


Red Hands

by etherimaginary



Category: EXO (Band), Mamamoo, Monsta X (Band)
Genre: M/M, MONSTA X IS ONLY IN 1 CHAPTER LMAO DON'T READ IF YOU ARE ONLY HERE FOR MONSTA X, VERY LIGHT WHEESA LIKE A BLIP IN THE FIC DON'T READ IF YOU ARE ONLY HERE FOR WHEESA LMAO
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-07-27 16:14:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7625287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etherimaginary/pseuds/etherimaginary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Kyungsoo is a hitman, Jongin is his next target, and things, inevitably, happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of Bruises and Bookstores

**Author's Note:**

> AYYYYYY I'M BACK FROM THE DEAD  
> and as promised, I'm starting my hitman!au  
> Okay, confession; I know I said I wasn't going to do this one live, but I downloaded pokemon go and didn't even start writing till like last week so I guess i WILL be posting this live  
> I can't say how often Ill update, but hopefully it wont be too long~  
> I do have it all basically plotted out though, except for the end, bc at the moment I have honestly no idea how I want to end it.  
> I'll update characters/tags as need be (✿◡‿◡)

There was shuffling in the near darkness; the press of bodies against each other, choked gurgles and heavy exhales the only disruption in the heated air. Fabric shushed against fabric, skin buzzed against skin, and a hand found the edge of a table, gripping the edge with a fading frenzy that ebbed with each slowing pulse of a heartbeat, each breath that grew more shallow than the last. 

“Please.” It was the skeleton of a word, said on the cusp of breath; a refrain so familiar yet not less haunting. Kyungsoo paid it no mind. He pulled his arm back tighter against the man’s throat, grimacing as the weight against his chest grew heavy and the hand clawing at his arm grew weak, falling soundlessly to dangle by the man’s side. Even after the body in his embrace stilled and went limp, Kyungsoo did not release his hold. He was no amateur. He waited until he was sure the man was truly dead before letting go, allowing the body slump to the floor. He eyed it with a mixture of disgust and curiosity, the promise of bruises already blossoming under the once flawless pale skin. 

It was a shame, really. The man had been attractive, having a face gentle to the point where Kyungsoo had almost mistaken him for a girl. He looked much better alive than he did dead. Then again, most people did, but Kyungsoo had long since become immune to the guilt that came along with his hits; his conscience sloughed off and forgotten somewhere down the road he had taken.

His steps were woundless as he moved across the room, shoes grinding dirt into the white carpet. Perhaps he would have felt bad, but Kyungsoo figured that anyone that wore Gucci pajamas could afford the occasional carpet cleaning or two. They should be grateful even; not a single drop of blood had been spilled over either the floor or the bed, of which was covered in sheets with a thread count Kyungsoo didn’t even want to know. He made his way back to the window that he had entered from; pausing to pocket a tiny crystal dear perched on the mantle above a fireplace as a final fuck you. He had nothing personal against the man really- though he never really did- but it had been a pain to get past security, and his pajamas were, in fact, the most expensive shade of ugly, so Kyungsoo considered it a bonus.

His hands found the window pane with ease, hauling his body over the edge with a precision that came only with practice and perhaps a few too many close calls with a broken leg. He slipped soundlessly through the gardens, slinking across the lawns that were pampered to the point of looking fake, and cast one last, pitying glance behind him, both at the house, and those who dwelled within it.

~ ~ ~

“Was it slow?” The question came from Kyungsoo’s left. A quick flit of the eyes was all it took for him to confirm the owner of the voice, returning his attention to the book in his hands just as subtly as it had left. The woman didn’t even look in Kyungsoo’s direction, her eyes fixated on the books stacked neatly against one another, titles and authors that Kyungsoo knew she wasn’t reading. Still, her hand reached out and plucked one from the shelf for good measure, turning it over and flipping through the pages absentmindedly.

“You didn’t pay me for slow.” He spoke the words to the paper in his hands, loud enough to be heard only if one was paying attention, and Kyungsoo knew she was. 

The woman pursed her lips, a small noise of irritation sounding in her throat. “Twenty thousand dollars doesn’t pay for slow?”

“That was the base cost.” Kyungsoo should have known the woman would find something to complain about. She simply glowed wealth; skin smooth in a way that promised she hadn’t worked a day in her life. She held her self highly, years of blank checks and spoilage turning her tongue sharp, eyes quick to detect any ounce of dissatisfaction. The only red on her hands was spread across her nails, twinkling as they clicked against the book’s cover impatiently. Kyungsoo hated her, and he hardly knew her. It was her husband he had learned about; his routines, his servants, any piece of information that had led up to the night Kyungsoo had snuck past the guards and into his bedroom. “Slow is an extra five.”

Kyungsoo watched from the corner of his eye as the woman glanced up at him, eyebrows knotted together in a way that most pleased him. Fucking with the wealthy was one of his favorite pastimes, after all. It was so easy to get under their skin. He slipped the book back into its place, turning to leave with one final glance at the woman. “Try to act surprised when you find the body. It would do us both some good.”

~ ~ ~

Milk had gone up in price. Kyungsoo frowned at the carton in his hands, wondering if it was even worth buying. Had someone gone on a cow mass murder? Was the world running out of milk? It annoyed him more than it should have, and eventually he just sighed and returned it to its spot on the shelf. He wasn’t sure why he cared so much about prices. He could buy out all the milk the store had if he wanted to; with the hits that he performed, and the charges that came along it them, Kyungsoo could afford the luxuries he so despised.

Gang leaders, officers of the law, merchants, spouses; Kyungsoo had done them all. It became routine after a while, familiar to the point where he almost looked forward to the high risk profiles, if only to get a spark of stimulation between the redundancies. It was a job, nothing more, and it was more stable than most people would have thought. There were always people wishing death upon others, always disputes that needed ending, enemies that needed vanquishing, affairs that needed repenting. Kyungsoo was the supply, and there was always a demand.

It didn’t take long to finish grocery shopping; Kyungsoo wasn’t one to overindulge, and didn’t like to make more than one trip up to his apartment anyways. The space itself was small, walls bare and floors supporting only the upmost of necessities. It was easier to keep clean that way, and Kyungsoo had no one to impress. It was sparse, but it was home, and he couldn’t imagine living anywhere else, even if he could afford it.

He collapsed onto his couch, scrolling through his phone as he waited for his laptop to boot up. There were texts from Jongdae- there always were- and a missed call from Baekhyun, likely asking if Kyungsoo was free to go out. As if he ever wasn’t. He did enjoy Baekhyun’s company, and the empty headed blabber that came along with it, but the man had the tendency to pry, and Kyungsoo didn’t have the energy to ward off his gossip thirsty questions. Thus, it was Jongdae’s number his fingers punched into the phone, putting it on speaker and opening his email, as the previous texts instructed him to do. His phone made a noise, a shuffle on the other end grinding out of his speakers.

“Kyungsoo.”

“Obviously.”

“Why are you calling at this hour? Do you _know_ what time it is?” Jongdae’s voice was gruff, words slurring together in such a way that presented either exhaustion or intoxication. Probably both.

“It’s the middle of the day.” A faint grin tugged at Kyungsoo’s mouth, not surprised when a grumble of protest was his reply.

“Exactly. Did you get the email I sent you?” Kyungsoo could almost hear the smirk in Jongdae’s voice as he spoke, muffled excitement hidden in the words.

“I’m looking at it now.” The email was nothing more than a file; a brief overview stating name, frequent places, and a house address. Kyungsoo had worked with less. It was odd to get two hits so close to one another, but he wasn’t complaining. He needed a palate cleanser after being exposed to the gross amount of wealth his previous target seemed so inclined to bathe in. “There isn’t a lot of information here.”

“I didn’t have a lot to go by to begin with. I attached a picture of the target. It’s shitty quality, but its something to go by, at least.” 

Kyungsoo clicked on the attachment, bringing up a slightly blurry picture of the top half of a man. Most of the picture was black, as if the photographer had been trying to take it discretely and had blocked part of the camera with his finger accidentally. It wouldn’t have been surprising. “Did you get motive? I would like to know the actual reason why someone wants this guy’s head on a plate.” At first glance, the man didn’t seem conspicuous. Kyungsoo recognized his address as belonging to a rather rough part of the city, but often that meant easier access; less property to navigate and less security to evade.

There was a hum through the phone, then silence, before Jongdae spoke, his voice grim. “The guy that called it in said that our target killed his brother. He seemed pretty scared on the phone; and pretty desperate to have this guy taken out. Maybe he’s worried that he’s going to be next.”

Scoffing, Kyungsoo turned to glare at the phone, willing Jongdae to feel the weight of his stare even through the speaker. “Is this gang related? He should have made a note to begin with.”

“Does it matter? You’ve dealt with stuff like this before.” Kyungsoo opened his mouth to speak, but closed it slowly, realizing Jongdae was right. It was nothing he hadn’t seen before, and simple enough that he wondered if it would be even worth his time. “Besides, you have to do it.” Jongdae sounded smug as he spoke, taking Kyungsoo prior silence as acceptance. “I already accepted the payment.”

“What the fuck?” Kyungsoo sputtered for a second, eyes fluttering as he snatched the phone off of the couch and held it before him. “Jongdae, what the fuck is wrong with you? You know you are supposed to run the files with me first.” He could feel himself getting angry, words tumbling over one another as he began to speak faster and faster. “What fucking spawn from hell possessed you to think that you could accept payment without checking with me first? Are you insane? What if I said no, huh? What if I had refused to do the case for whatever reason? What would you have done then?”

“Jesus, Soo, calm down.” Jongdae, at least, sounded the slightest bit panicked, never having liked it when Kyungsoo was genuinely upset with him. “I know I’m not supposed to but I read over the file and I was sure this isn’t a case you’d turn away. It will be a walk in the park; a shitty neighborhood, a file filled with desperation and fear, and a predictable target. Can you honestly say that this won’t be one of the easiest cases you’ve done in a while?”

“Too easy.” Kyungsoo shut his laptop with a bit more force than necessary, abandoning it on the coffee table in favour of wandering around his apartment. He felt restless; a vile combination of irritation and misplaced anticipation. Jongdae did that to him, sometimes. “It doesn’t seem like it will be worth investing effort into. How much did you charge him?”

“Fifty thousand.” Kyungsoo froze, eyebrows knotting together. That couldn’t be right. Jongdae must have fucked up somehow; there was no way anyone would pay that much for such an easy target. He could hear Jongdae laugh from the phone at his silence, the sound polar to the drugged voice he had donned mere minutes before. “This is the part where you say ‘That can’t be!’ and I say ‘A little fear goes along way’ and then you compliment me on how good at my job I am and tell me how thankful you are to have me in your life, and that you’re sorry for yelling at me.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“You’re welcome.”

Kyungsoo groaned, one hand coming up to run over his face. He really couldn’t back out now, and it didn’t seem like too difficult a case. “Fine,” he conceited, grinding his teeth at the squeal of joy erupting from his phone, “I’ll do the case. But I swear to god, if you pull some shit like this again I will burn your house down.”

“Yeah, yeah, love you too. One last thing, though.” Kyungsoo’s thumb paused over the little red circle that would end the call, raising his eyebrows at the phone, and in turn, Jongdae. “The guy said he’ll throw in an extra seven thousand if you can get a video recording of the target apologizing. Make him beg for forgiveness and all that jazz.”

“Now that,” Kyungsoo grinned, his fingers twitching at the mere thought, “is an offer I simply can’t refuse."


	2. Two Scoops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I ever told you guys that I am Wheesa trash? Not as much as I am Kaisoo trash, obviously, but the trashiness is still there.  
> This chapter is dedicated to nyahaha, because she made me write ~~~sensual~~~ stuff even though i physicALLY CAN'T FUCK YOU GAYLE  
> She likes to see me suffer, and not even in the good way ;)  
> A N Y W A Y S .

Kim Jongin, it seemed, was a predictable man. The profile had noted his frequent locations, and though there weren’t many, they were often. It was why Kyungsoo found himself in a cozy little coffee shop a half hour’s walk away from his apartment. It was a hole in the wall sort of place, all warm walls and perhaps a little too well loved furniture. He had never paid any mind to the place before hand, perhaps a glance or two as he drove by, but it had become his soul focus, being one of the most likely places to find his target.

His eyes found the clock, hung above the glass case of pastries and bagels. It was said in the profile that Jongin visited this coffee shop nearly every day at three in the afternoon, which Kyungsoo found both incredibly specific, and curiously unusual. It was the awkward point of the day in which it was too late to go on a lunch break and too early for most people to get off work. Perhaps Jongin was unemployed. Kyungsoo certainly hoped so. Really, the only other option he could think of was that the man had a job without set office hours, one that would put him in a position to kill, one that would get his name on a hit list for a deliciously high price. 

The other option stuck in Kyungsoo’s mind, churning in his stomach with unease. If Kim Jongin did turn out to have relations to gang activity, Kyungsoo knew it was foolish to profile him out in the open. The last thing he needed was for his name to appear on a hit list. No, he would not let irony be the death of him. 

A small chime sounded through the air as the door to the café was opened, a draft of cool autumn air ghosting over Kyungsoo’s ankles. His eyes snapped upwards, flicking from the barista’s beaming face to the doorway. A man paused at the threshold to return the grin, plump lips pulling up in a way that had Kyungsoo’s heart stuttering. He recognized the man as the one from the profile, but half of a blurry picture did no justice to the masterpiece making its way towards the counter, not even sparing Kyungsoo a glance as he passed. He was tall; more so than Kyungsoo, and though he wore a rather fuzzy looking sweater, not a single inch of fabric hung loose, fitting the dips and curves of muscle beneath in a way that had Kyungsoo’s mouth watering. He tore his eyes away from the man, once more seeking out the clock that hugged the wall with snug familiarity. Jongin was five minutes late. Still, it was a rather impressive record to sustain, and Kyungsoo wondered if it was something he did on purpose or if it was subconscious instinct that drove the habit. 

“Medium white mocha, two scoops of matcha, please.” It wasn’t surprising how well Jongin’s voice fit his body. He purred rather than spoke, deep dulcet tones folding into a caramel hum that made Kyungsoo’s throat sticky. He was gorgeous in a way that was hardly legal. His skin was blown from the same glass as vast deserts, eyes mere drops of starlight among pools of rivers and seas. His smile was honey, his laugh the very air in Kyungsoo’s lungs, and each movement, each mere twitch of his finger sent the clouds rolling through the sky, pushed and pulled the tides in time with the moon. In short, Kim Jongin was very, very fuckable.

But Kyungsoo had a job to do.

He above anyone knew how dangerous it was to get distracted, to doubt. Pretty as he may be alive, Kim Jongin was worth much more to Kyungsoo dead. Fifty thousand dollars more, to be precise. And it wasn’t as if Kyungsoo hadn’t killed attractive men before; the only difference in the hits was the bitter taste of what could have been that lingered on his tongue for many hours after. 

The door tinkled again, the barista calling out an obligatory “Have a nice day!” in her too cheerful voice, which was answered with a smile bright enough that Kyungsoo wondered how she didn’t drop dead. He didn’t realize he was holding his breath the door closed, allowing him to suck in air that was suddenly too empty, too cold. But it allowed him to think, to refocus and concentrate on the reason he was there in the first place. He was there to kill Kim Jongin. And he would.

It would just be more difficult than expected.

~ ~ ~

The window was cracked, letting in both the cool night air and the distant sounds of sparse traffic. The city was always alive, even at this time of night; people coming and going, their cars a hush of white noise. The room was warm, too warm; Kyungsoo’s back sticking to the sheets as he writhed about on the mattress. His breath disturbed the air in short, frantic puffs, one hand fisted tight in the sheets as the other squeezed around his cock, tugging on the heated skin with a touch that edged on painful, just the way he liked it.

“Fuck.” Weak cries spilled from his lips, eyes shut tightly against the darkness that surrounded him. His thighs fell open further, body begging for more, more, and Kyungsoo sped up his pace, a sob catching in his throat. “Fuck, please, _please_.”

He could almost feel the lips against his skin, pulled into a smirk as Kyungsoo fell apart under hands that were not his own, arched against a touch that was unfamiliar. And suddenly it was not just him that occupied the room, not just him that sucked in greedy breaths of too warm air.

“ _Jongin_.” Kyungsoo’s mouth fell open, his mind burning images across the back of his eyelids. Images of blurry pictures and coffee shops, of warm hands and the electric buzz of skin against skin. Jongin grinned down at him, eyes dark with a hunger that fizzled up Kyungsoo’s spine. His fingers travelled up Kyungsoo’s legs, pressing hard into Kyungsoo’s thighs and drawing a whimper from his lips. His gaze burrowed deep into Kyungsoo’s chest, watching, _devouring_ , his breath ghosting over Kyungsoo's skin. A blush crept onto Kyungsoo’s cheeks, suddenly aware at how exposed he was; splayed out for Jongin to touch, to ruin. But the vulnerability drove him closer to the edge, lips parted as obscene sounds bubbled from his tongue. His hand released the bedsheets in favour of fisting in his hair, giving it a tug that sent glorious shocks of pain through his body. He pulled again, imagining that it wasn’t his hand but Jongin’s, letting himself come undone.

He knew he shouldn’t be doing this. He knew that eventually he would have to kill the man, and really he shouldn’t be picturing the way his tongue would feel dragging up his thighs, swirling around the head of his cock until Kyungsoo crumbled under the delicious torture. But oh, fuck, did Kyungsoo want to taste him just once, hear his name whimpered from such luscious lips, feel his body melt under Jongin’s touch. 

It was with Jongin’s name on his lips that Kyungsoo’s orgasm finally washed over him, feeling his hand become warm and sticky but not slowing its strokes until his body twitched and tears pricked in his eyes at the stimulation. For a moment, the only movement in the room was own chest, rising and falling in short pants as the fuzzy feeling blooming through him ebbed away. Then the moment was gone and his eyes snapped open, body jolting upright in shock of what he had just done. He looked down at his hand, the room just bright enough to see the tacky glaze glistening in what little light crept past his curtains. Evidence. 

“Oh fuck, I did not just- _fuck_.” Kyungsoo stared down at his hand, face contorted in a mixture of shame and disbelief. Jongin was a target, a paycheck. Kyungsoo should not have been thinking about the way his body looked under his clothes, or how comfortably his hands would fit on Kyungsoo’s hips. 

Kim Jongin had a price tag attached to his head. He was a job, a chore, a salary waiting to happen. And ‘what if’s didn’t pay the bills, and ‘if only’s didn’t put food on the table. 

Kim Jongin was a target. 

And that was all he should have been. 

But… it was natural, was it not? Kyungsoo couldn’t deny the satisfaction that came with hard work, even if that work took the form of spilling blood. There was a certain pleasure to the craft, a splendid beauty that often went unnoticed through the grief and the hollow shock. It was not lost to Kyungsoo, however. He marveled at the way bruises blossomed under his fingertips, cooed at the tears that would make pink trails as they rolled over blood stained skin. It would have been a waste of breath to use Jongin’s name and the word unattractive in the same sentence, and combining someone of such prowess, such allure, with the grotesque touch of death meant that it was only fair to allow Kyungsoo to enjoy the sensations; the sensual touch of steel against skin, the delicate ballet of fingers over a windpipe. 

Yes, it was only fair. 

~ ~ ~

Maybe he wanted to see how accurate the profile was. Maybe he wanted to test just how predictable Kim Jongin was. Or, maybe, just maybe, Kyungsoo wanted to see him again. Whatever the case may be, Kyungsoo found himself once more seated in the uncomfortable booth seat of the coffee shop, his cup sitting half empty on the table before him. It had cooled in the half hour that he had been sitting there, no longer providing his palms with cozy warmth when he wrapped his hands around the paper. He glanced at the clock, disappointment tugging the corner of his lips into a frown. He didn’t exactly want to wait all day, and had really only planned his visit on the assumption that Jongin was a punctual man. It was a shot in the dark, a line cast out blindly with hope as the only lure. Stupid. 

Kyungsoo sighed, about to get up out of his seat when the door chimed, his eyes immediately searching for the source of the sound. When at last he had found what he was looking for, he grinned, satisfaction making the booth much more comfortable to settle back into. It was, after all, good to know that his source was reliable, not to mention that having confirmation of even one frequent location made Kyungsoo’s job a hell of a lot easier. 

“Back again?” The barista’s voice grated on Kyungsoo’s nerves, her laugh causing him to wrinkle his nose, looking out the window to avoid sending a glare in her direction. He could see her reflection in the glass, however, see her flash dimples every time she giggled. She was very pretty, and Kyungsoo decided in that moment that he didn’t like her. “Let me guess; medium white matcha mocha?” Jongin shrugged, holding out his hands in mock surrender, to which the girl tutted, a few strands of hair falling into her face as she shook her head. “So predictable.” 

“Come on, you know you love me.” Jongin laughed, leaning on the counter with a sturdy grace. The girl held pure adoration in her eyes at the compliment, though Kyungsoo could hardly call it a compliment, one hand coming up to twirl her hair. Kyungsoo turned to look at her once she began making the drink, nodding and humming in acknowledgement as Jongin continued to speak. “I haven’t seen Ahn in a while. Is she sick?” 

__The barista scoffed, glancing at Jongin as the machine she had put the drink under made an ungodly grinding noise. “Yeah, she’s infected with a disease called ‘I’m a lazy ass and sleep all day instead of coming to visit my girlfriend at work’. Don’t worry; I make her pay for it.” She winked, at last bringing the steaming cup to the counter and fitting a lid snugly on top._ _

__Jongin picked up the coffee with an almost loving touch, tossing a bill worth far more than the drink called for on the counter. He turned to leave after one last thank you, ignoring the barista’s screeched insistence that he take his change and letting the tinkling door punctuate his departure._ _

Narrowing his eyes, Kyungsoo looked from the barista to the door and at last down to his own coffee. It was bitter, harsh, and a tad over roasted. It was, essentially, just as he would usually like it, but now it seemed unbearably mundane, drab. It seemed unbearably _Kyungsoo _.__

____He stood, tossing the remnants of his coffee into the garbage and sauntering up to the counter. The girl didn’t notice him at first, too focused on cleaning some machine and its attachment, which frankly looked like it belonged in a medieval torture film rather than a coffee shop. “Excuse me.”_ _ _ _

____“Oh, hi there!” Her tone was completely different than what she had used with Jongin, which was expected but no less irritating. To Kyungsoo, it was chipper yet concise, stiff and pandering in a way that Kyungsoo could only describe as ‘server voice’. With Jongin it had been more relaxed; one friend to another. Kyungsoo supposed he deserved it, if he really did frequent the place as often as the profile has said. The barista flashed a tip-earning smile at him -Kyungsoo wondered if it was something she had had to practice or if it had come naturally- tilting her head slightly as she leaned against the counter. “What can I get for you?”_ _ _ _

“Uh.” Kyungsoo blinked, taking a moment to refocus his thoughts. “Whatever the guy before me got. The white coffee or whatever.” It was almost hard to pretend like he didn’t know Jongin’s exact order, especially after it been playing in his head all day.  
“Ah, you overheard us?” She giggled at Kyungsoo’s nod, and it was surprisingly like the giggle she had given Jongin earlier. Maybe that was just her thing and she hadn’t, as Kyungsoo had assumed, been flirting with the man. After all, he was pretty sure the girl was already taken, by whoever the fuck ‘Ahn’ was. Kyungsoo decided he hated her a little less. She shook her head, punching it into the computer with a slight roll of her eyes. “He gets it every time. I have the recipe memorized by now.” Kyungsoo handed over the money, eyes locked on her face as he listened. It was odd; he himself knew how heavy his stare could be, and yet the girl seemed to take no notice of it, not at all burdened by the weight of his gaze. He wasn’t sure if he admired her for it or despised her for it. Possibly both. “Tell me if you like it if you ever see me again.” She began to work, following the same steps she had minutes earlier with a proficiency that indeed promised she made the drink often. It took hardly any time before she placed the steaming cup in front of Kyungsoo, the top blanketed in a green and white foam. 

“Thanks.” Kyungsoo picked it up, careful not to spill any, and studied the top. It had rich scent that sat in the back of his throat, somehow sweet and bitter at the same time. He looked up from the cup at the expectant face of the barista, a playful curiosity quirking her lip upwards. “What- what’s in it?” 

Another giggle bubbled from her lips, but Kyungsoo found himself no longer bothered by the sound. It was almost- _almost_ \- cute. Almost. “That, my friend, is a deadly mixture of white hot chocolate, coffee, and matcha powder. It’s actually not on the menu, and really Jongin- ah, the other guy- is the only one who orders it. Though,” She raised an eyebrow as Kyungsoo took a sip, narrowing his eyes as the array of flavours washed over his tongue in a way most pleasant, “it’s looking like that might change.” 

____Kyungsoo hummed in acknowledgement, thanking her once more before making his way to the door. He took one last sip, savoring the warm flavours on his tongue before exiting into the quickly cooling air, the small chime of the door the only indication of his absence._ _ _ _


	3. Nothing More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH JEEZ SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG  
> but in other news, I got Twitter!! Go follow me, if you want!!!

Kim Jongin was a target. Nothing more. The problem was, that nothing was becoming more a whole lot sooner than Kyungsoo would have liked.

It was odd; usually Kyungsoo would have taken any chance to get closer to his hit, learn more about them, capitalize on any vulnerabilities they may have. But with Jongin, Kyungsoo was shying away from interaction. He saw the man nearly every day but had not yet said a word to him, despite the requests of the barista, who Kyungsoo had come to know as Wheein. 

“Come on,” she teased, hands busy with whatever evil-looking contraption would spit out Kyungsoo’s coffee, “you two have so much in common.”

Kyungsoo scoffed, unable to hold both the smirk from his face and the indignation from his voice. “Like what?”

“Well, to start; you both make me make this damn drink every time I see you. If I didn’t have it memorized before, I do now.” She set the steaming cup on the counter, wiping her hands on her apron before placing them on her hips. “And don’t try to play this off as lack of attraction; that boy’s a catch.”

Rolling his eyes, Kyungsoo grabbed the coffee from the counter, lifting it up too quickly and splashing some of the hot liquid over his fingers. “You’re opinion doesn’t count.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Wheein nearly squawked at his words, eyebrows furrowed and jaw dropped though her face was blushed pink from holding back giggles. The door chimed behind Kyungsoo, but he didn’t flinch at the sound. He had learned to come hours early on days when he wanted to avoid Jongin. Even when he didn’t, the time they had spent under the same roof in the three weeks that Kyungsoo had been studying him could have been counted up to minutes. He wasn’t stupid. The last thing he needed was for Jongin to know his face. It didn’t matter, really; he had had plenty of cases where he only saw the target once, maybe twice, before completing the hit. It almost felt weird to be joking around with Wheein, as if he wasn’t going to murder her friend in a matter of weeks, maybe even days. He wondered if she would somehow know it had been him, or if she would miss his presence once he no longer visited the cafe., as he knew she would miss Jongin’s. It was foolish of him to get even the slightest bit invested, but he couldn’t find it in himself to regret it; Wheein’s friendship, if he could even call it that, had brought a surprising warmth to his life, a comfort that came from routine and positive reinforcement. “It _does_ count! I’m gay, not blind.”

“Hell yeah you are!” The voice came from behind Kyungsoo, one that he recognized from the few times he had been around to hear it. Wheein certainly recognized it; her face brightened at the words, a sound that was higher than Kyungsoo thought humanly possible squealing from her mouth. 

He took it as his cue to leave; though he had nothing against them separately, together Wheein and Hyejin could be a bit… much. Laughing a bit too loudly, sitting a bit too close, making out a bit too long.  
Kyungsoo barely got an obligatory “Have a nice day” as he left, the words slightly muffled by what Kyungsoo assumed was a tight hug. It was cute, in a revolting way; how gooey they were for each other. It made him feel an odd sort of loss, missing something that he had never had, some sort of misplaced nostalgia. He could take comfort, at least, in the fact that Wheein wouldn’t be alone when the time came, that she would have a shoulder to cry on and mourn the loss of a friend. Or perhaps, Kyungsoo thought with a smile, two.

~ ~ ~

The room smelled like blood. It was obvious where the scent was coming from. After all, there were only two of them in the room. Minseok shifted in his chair, wincing as the ropes securing him in place bit into his flesh. He could feel blood, his own blood, sticky on his face, some dripping onto the torn clothes covering his chest and some already dried into a chalky crust. He could see bruises forming in the spaces where his clothes had been completely shredded away, staining the skin over his ribs black. They ached when he breathed.

“Do you think I’m a fucking idiot?” The words came from the other in the room. His hands were red with blood, knuckles likely bruised from where they connected at an odd angle with Minseok’s cheekbone. The man’s sleeves were rolled up, droplets of blood staining his skin where the fabric would have been. 

“I don’t what you’re talking about, I swear.” It was hard to talk with his mouth so full of blood. The words came out garbled, every syllable sending a wave of pain through Minseok’s jaw. The man sighed, though it was more in exasperation rather than exhaustion, turning to shuffle through some papers on a small fold-out table. He picked one up gingerly, red smearing across the white and he held it up to Minseok’s face. It was an email, or at least the printout of one. There was information written in the email; places, addresses, names unfamiliar to Minseok. There was a picture as well, but it was blurry, and any resemblance to the man standing before him could be easily disputed. Still, despite the lack of information on the email, it was easy to tell what it was. “I didn’t put a hit on anyone.”

The man smiled softly, patting Minseok’s cheek with surprising tenderness considering the damage those same hands had done minutes prior. “Oh, sweet baozi, I know _you_ didn’t. You’re too much of a coward.” The man pulled the email away, tossing the now soiled paper on the floor. “It was your boss, wasn’t it? I know he wants me dead.” The man frowned, shaking his head in disgust. “But he’s a coward too isn’t he? Oh, he’s made such a mess of things, made so many mistakes. He tried to be sneaky, but now he’s involved someone who has no business with either of us. Now, I’m no bleeding heart, but that is just not fair now is it? Poor guy.” The man leaned close into Minseok’s face, hand gripping his hair roughly. He was handsome, in a cruel way, lips looking just as good in a mock pout as they did in a snarl. “Now it’s my fucking business to keep him out of it. If any blood spills, it won’t be his.”

“Then what the fuck do you need from me?” Minseok whimpered as his head was pulled back and forth as the man thought, blood staining his teeth and dribbling from his lips. 

“I need you to tell me where your boss is, so I can tear out his throat before this goes any further.” The man let go of Minseok’s hair to walk back to the table, hands wandering over rows of sharpened steel blades. Many of them were already soiled with blood, and Minseok could still feel their bite in his flesh. He shuddered, not wanting to relive the memory. He knew it was fruitless to deny the man any information he wanted; he would get it one way or another. 

“If I tell you, will you let me go?” Minseok’s voice was small, scared. He couldn’t endure any more. The man froze, one small blade raised in front of his face as if he was studying it. His back was to Minseok, and he could see the muscles rolling under his shirt as he laughed, twirling the blade in his hand. 

“Now,” he purred, tilting his head as he turned to face Minseok once again, “where is the fun in that?”

~ ~ ~

Kyungsoo sat in a room dripped in pitch, back resting against the leather cushion of a chair that had become soft and pliant from many uses; many tired bodies and aching backs aging the leather. Really, he knew he shouldn’t be where he was. It was a rookie mistake to rush into things, to wait like some fucking specter and curse the cliché of it all as the minutes ticked on silently in against the darkened walls. It had been mere weeks since had first laid eyes on the man, and yet here he was, snuggled up in his armchair and breathing in air that held a scent that Kyungsoo couldn’t describe as anything other than _Jongin_.

There wasn’t a single reason worth admitting that had lead Kyungsoo to perch in the chair, ready to pounce the moment the door was opened. There wasn’t a single benefit to finishing the hit so early. He wouldn’t get extra pay, he didn’t have another on the waiting list, and there wasn’t any approaching due date that would mark the point of no return. In fact, there was only one explanation for Kyungsoo’s amateur behavior, one that didn’t sit right in his stomach, one that he would rather cut his own tongue out than say it aloud. The _feeling_. It had latched itself onto his ribcage, pulling at his lungs with every breath of the scent tainted air and Kyungsoo couldn’t identify it, or perhaps he simply didn’t want to. But it had grown in the few weeks he had ‘known’ Jongin, and if he was honest, Kyungsoo was fucking terrified of it, terrified of what it did to him. Doubt crept through his mind, dulled his actions, shrouded his decisions. It wasn’t Kyungsoo’s place to question the profile. He never had, and frankly never wanted to. It did nothing except make the recoil of the kill greater, make the guilt echo for longer. Still, it was difficult, and increasingly so, not to squint at the letters and words of the email, looking for a mistake in the many times he had read it over. Because the Jongin in the profile was a killer, not someone who ordered stupid fucking drinks and had a stupid fucking face and a stupid fucking smile for anyone who showed him kindness. Because the Jongin in the profile wouldn’t be friends with Wheein, or hold the door for the elderly woman who had just wanted a brownie. Because the Jongin in the profile wouldn’t make Kyungsoo choke whenever he so much as glanced his way, flashing his perfect smile though neither had shared so much as a word and Kyungsoo was nothing more than a stranger. Because the Jongin in the profile wasn’t beautiful, inside and out.

The apartment was nice, at least in the way it was maintained. Really, the meager rooms had little to work with, but somehow Jongin had found a way to make to seem cozy, a sort of lived in chic. It was small, but it was clean, and it was home. But not to Kyungsoo.

There was a jangling of keys on the other side of the door. Kyungsoo’s eyes flicked to the right briefly at the sound, but he did not move from his position. He would let Jongin come inside. He didn’t want to do it out in the hallway; there was a greater chance of cameras, not to mention nosy neighbors that would peak their heads out of their own doors at the slightest sound of struggle.

The door swung open, soaking the carpet in a pale light as Jongin fumbled for the light switch. He didn’t notice Kyungsoo at first, back turned as he set his jacket down on the kitchen counter, humming some unfamiliar tune. Good. Kyungsoo’s fingers silently slipped into his pocket, gliding over the smooth handle of his knife. Knife, because guns were loud and he couldn't, for some unfathomable reason, bring himself to even imagine choking the life out of Jongin, for his fingertips to bruise the flesh. It was the perfect shade of tan; soft, succulent, begging to bit sucked and nibbled and _fuck, Kyungsoo, focus_. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a steadying breath and trying to remember when the last time was that he had felt nervous on a hunt. 

“Who the hell are you?” For a moment, he kept his eyes closed, hearing rather than seeing his presence being discovered. When at last he laid eyes on Jongin, Kyungsoo could see the fear in his eyes, back pressed up against the fridge. “Wh-what are you doing in my house?”

Kyungsoo didn’t answer, holding a finger too his lips and shushing the man softly. He rose from his chair and ambled slowly towards Jongin, whose eyes were fixed on the blade held loosely between Kyungsoo's’ fingers. He stood frozen for a moment, only jumping away when Kyungsoo was close enough to touch. His hands existed in the space between them- a meager barrier at best- fingertips curled in slightly as they trembled. Kyungsoo couldn’t get it out of his mind just how wrong the scene was. Jongin didn’t look like a killer. He didn’t speak like one, or act like one, and Kyungsoo would know; he had met his fair share of killers in his lifetime. He was one. 

“Please.” Jongin had a pretty voice for begging. It was husky, low, fear vibrating along the edges of every word. His back was against the wall now, hip pressing into the counter and effectively blocking him in. “I’ll give you anything you want, just don’t hurt me. Please, money, whatever you want-” He was silence by Kyungsoo's hand on his jaw, thumb brushing along his cheek, swiping at a rogue tear and tracked down the skin. So wrong. Jongin’s lips formed around a plead, but there was no air behind it, no strength.  
“Is your name Kim Jongin?” Kyungsoo didn’t have to speak loudly to span the space between them; it was a vacuum, a void, and the words filled it easily. Jongin nodded. Kyungsoo narrowed his eyes, silence more threatening than the question had been. He didn’t really need the extra five thousand dollars, and frankly didn’t want to bother getting the taped apology, but there was a part of him that _wanted_ to see Jongin beg; see him come apart under his touch. So fucking wrong. “You’re a murderer.” Kyungsoo’s voice was flat, but its effect was immediate. Jongin’s widened at the statement, mouth dropping as his head shook frantically from side to side.

“No!” The cry surprised them both, Kyungsoo tensing, then narrowing his eyes until Jongin shrunk under the gaze.

“You killed someone, Jongin.” God, his name tasted so good on Kyungsoo’s tongue. 

“No,” the word was a moan, Kyungsoo’s hold on his jaw turned slippery as tears dripped over his fingers. “Please, I didn’t, I swear. I don’t know what you’re talking about, please, please” The rest of his please were lost to hiccups, legs giving out as he slid down the wall, sinking to the floor between Kyungsoo’s feet.

The scene was wrong. Killers don’t cry. But it wasn’t Kyungsoo’s position to question the profile, and Jongin was a target, nothing more.

Kyungsoo’s fingers tightened around the knife.


	4. A Mild Inconvenience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO MY DUCKLINGS IT HAS BEEN A WHILE. SCHOOL'S BEEN LIT, AND NOT IN A GOOD WAY, BUT I MANAGED TO PROCRASTINATE STUDYING FOR MY PHYSICS MIDTERM BY FINISHING THIS CHAPTER AND THUS, HERE WE ARE. I STILL AM TECHNICALLY ON HIATUS, BUT I WILL GET THE CHAPTERS OUT AS SOON AS I FIND TIME TO. ENJOY, LOVELIES!!

“You gave me the wrong fucking person.” Kyungsoo’s voice was dangerously low but Jongdae, who was relaxed over Kyungsoo’s couch, didn’t react. He didn’t look up at Kyungsoo, didn’t say anything, and it was infuriating. “There has to have been a mix up; there is no way that kid could have murdered anyone.” More silence. “Who called the hit?”

Jongdae shook his head, holding his hands up in front of him as if that proved he didn’t know. He took a deep breath, leaning his head back against the couch and closing his eyes. “You didn’t kill him.” The words were scarcely a breath.

“No I didn’t fucking kill him!” Kyungsoo gritted his teeth, angry for a reason he couldn’t figure out. He didn’t like being mad at Jongdae, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to suppress the emotion. “He’s the wrong guy.”

“Kyungsoo, the guy that called the hit…” Jongdae eyebrows creased in a frown. He leaned forward again, letting his eyes rest on Kyungsoo’s face before they dropped to the coffee table that separated them. His coffee sat steaming on it next to Kyungsoo’s drink, though for the life of him Jongdae couldn’t figure out what it was. Tea? It was an odd green colour, the top covered in what he assumed to be whip cream melting into a foam that soaked up the liquid. Kyungsoo was fucking weird sometimes. “He seemed pretty desperate, scared. Hell, the deposit-”

“Do I give a shit about the deposit?”

“That’s not my point.” Jongdae trusted Kyungsoo. If he said there was a mistake, there usually was. And it was no use chasing some poor prick that had nothing to do with any of it; it was a waste of Kyungsoo’s time, and a waste of a life. “This guy, whoever the fuck he is, wants Kim Jongin dead. Even if he’s the wrong person, Jongin has a price on his head and a target on his back. And if you don’t do it,” His eyes locked on Kyungsoo’s, “then someone else will”

~ ~ ~

Kyungsoo wondered when he had become so invested. Or rather, why he had become so invested. After all, Jongin was a stranger, a nobody, just another hit gone wrong. Kyungsoo stared at himself in the mirror of his bathroom, Jongin’s name running through his head. He owed the man nothing; he should just step back and let whoever called the hit do what he wanted with Jongin. Surely, if he had mistaken him for the man that killed his brother once, he would do it again. Kyungsoo wouldn’t even need to have Jongin’s blood on his hands. He would be able to walk in the café without feeling Wheein’s eyes burn through him, hold her hand in comfort as he pretended to be surprised at the news of her friend’s death.

Somehow, Kyungsoo knew he wouldn’t be able to do that. Some small, rational part of his brain screamed at him to make it right, to not let a mistake cost the life of a man he barely knew. He wanted to hate Jongin. He couldn’t. Kyungsoo’s hands gripped the edge of the sink painfully, jaw clenched until his teeth ached. Kyungsoo wouldn’t have thought himself so weak. Jongin was boring and repetitive. He ordered the same fucking drink at the same fucking coffee shop every day. He had stupid annoying little habits like brushing back his hair when it was already perfectly in place or how one side of his mouth would pull into a lopsided smirk whenever he saw something amusing, and oh, how Kyungsoo wanted to be the source of that smirk just once. He wanted to hate Jongin. It would make killing him so much easier. But he had already proven that he couldn’t once, and standing back and letting someone else do it would hurt just as much. Fuck.

“Oh, look,” Kyungsoo sighed at his reflection voice echoing off the tile and mirror, “I’ve fallen in love.” He narrowed his eyes. “How fucking inconvenient.”

Jongdae’s voice rang in his ears; a choking echo of truth that Kyungsoo was not yet ready to face. He was right; it was only a matter of time before Jongin would have a new hit on him, and Kyungsoo wasn’t exactly confident in the guess that others would realize there had been a mistake. No, it seemed inevitable that Kyungsoo be dragged back into Jongin’s world, though his role in the man’s life would be different. Fuck, he just wanted to be rid of it all. Perhaps this was his punishment for past sins; the many lives he had ended cumulating enough recoil that only now bit him in the ass. Usually, Kyungsoo was good at ignoring it, at plodding along with vague indifference until the next chance to spill blood arose. But this time was different. This time there was more at stake, more to lose. And Kyungsoo didn’t like to lose.

~ ~ ~

The café had become familiar by now. Even on the days that Kyungsoo came at a time when he knew Jongin wouldn’t be there, it still felt like him; warm and homey, as Kyungsoo imagined his embrace would be. It was honey and fuzzy sweaters, a thick blanket on a cold winter’s day. It was something Kyungsoo wanted to fall asleep to, and wake up wrapped around.

But that was not what he was there for. He knew it ahead of time, reminded himself until his tongue tripped over the words, but it was only once Jongin finally laid eyes on him, hand pausing in the air as he reached to grab the coffee cup, that it solidified in his mind. He was not here for himself. He was here for something far greater.

Jongin’s gaze was fearful. Fuck, that was the understatement of the year. His lips parted slightly in disbelief as their eyes locked, neither noticing the way Wheein giggled and spun away in satisfaction. Ignorance truly was bliss. Kyungsoo could see Jongin’s throat working as he swallowed, body reanimating as he grasped the cup with shaking hands. He was scared. That was plain enough to see, and Kyungsoo couldn’t blame him, even if it burned in his chest. _He_ had caused the uncertainty in such beautiful eyes; _he_ had caused the tremors that wracked an otherwise perfect body.

Kyungsoo beckoned with one finger, gesturing to the seat across from him. He half expected Jongin to bolt out the door from that movement alone, and was pleasantly surprised when the man simply looked around the room, locked in his spot. There would be witnesses should anything happen. Kyungsoo knew that; it was why he had chosen the café in the first place. He assumed Jongin would feel more comfortable talking in public, in a place he had come to know as a second home. There were just enough people to provide comfort, while not so many as to be a concern to discrepancy. Besides, as much as the thought excited him, Kyungsoo didn’t exactly want to go to the effort of breaking into Jongin’s house again. The café would do.

The chair huffed slightly as Jongin sat, perched on the edge as if to jump away at the slightest movement, the smallest notion of harm. Fair enough. Kyungsoo was sure he owed him that, at least. They sat in silence for a minute, each eying the other with uncertainty.

“You’re in danger,” Kyungsoo said at last, the sound unexpected and earning a flinch from Jongin. He really was delicate, in no way a killer. Kyungsoo couldn’t believe how close he had been to spilling his blood. “Someone wants you dead.”

As if it wasn’t already fucking obvious.

“Who?”

Kyungsoo loved the way Jongin’s voice sounded, even when softened with fear. He shook his head, mouth set in a grim line. “I don’t know. Whoever it is seems to think that you are the man that killed his brother.”

More silence. Kyungsoo was comfortable in it. Jongin squirmed. His expression darkened for just a moment, fingers fiddling with the edge of his cup, pushing back his hair. God he was beautiful. Kyungsoo slid a piece of paper across the table soundlessly, making sure to move slowly as to not scare the man away. Jongin stared at it for a second, reaching out to pull it towards himself just as slowly.

“Why are you here?” Jongin looked from the paper up to Kyungsoo’s face, eyebrows furrowing slightly. “What do you want from me?”

“I’m here to help.” Kyungsoo couldn’t help the desperation that dripped from the words, wanting so badly for Jongin to believe him but knowing he was in no position to. His questions were ones that Kyungsoo had asked himself many times over, and it was only now that he knew the answers. “I’m here to make sure nothing happens to you.”

Jongin scoffed, fingers trailing up to his jaw absentmindedly as if remembering Kyungsoo’s touch. Kyungsoo remembered it too, though he was sure the emotions woven through the memory were different. Jongin’s eyes flicked back to the paper, where Kyungsoo’s name was scribbled under a set of numbers. “Why should I trust you, Kyungsoo?”

Good question. For a moment, Kyungsoo didn’t answer. It was simple to him, and yet he knew that most attempts at reasoning would come off as fake, manipulating. He just wanted to help. He wanted to prove to himself the divide that separated him from the monsters of the world, that when the day was done he could wash the blood from his hands and have them return unstained. And maybe it was the wrong thing to do, but he’d be damned if he at least didn’t try to fix the mess that someone else had made. Just once, he could be the hand of mercy in the light of injustice. Just once, he could wield life rather than death.

“Because I know you’re innocent.” His eyes flicked between either of their drinks, matching in colour only to differ in warmth. “Because I like to think that I have some conscious, some sense of moral left in me, and because,” his eyes lifted form the green froth, a slight smirk on his lips, “If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead.”

~ ~ ~

“Minseok is dead.”

Yi Fan looked up from the array of papers strewn across his desk, frowning slightly as the words processed. “I see.”

“ _I see?_ ” Junmyeon echoed incredulously, swinging the door closed with more force than necessary. “That’s all you have to say?” His voice was scratchy; waves breaking against the shoreline of his syllables. Had he been crying? Yi Fan gestured to the seat beside him, patting the papers into the illusion of array.

“Do we know who did it?” Yi Fan already had a suspect.

Junmyeon shook his head. “They found his body in the warehouse we had used last winter. He was,” He paused to swallow thickly, “completely torn up. I did not see it myself, but his body had countless broken bones. Someone described him to me as fucking _pared_.” Junmyeon fell rather than sat into the chair, rubbing his hands over his face. Exhaustion weighed on his face, dark circles marring the skin beneath his eyes.

Silenced encompassed them for many minutes; Junmyeon’s mournful, Yi Fan’s calculating. The air was chilled, time counting with a heartbeat that ceased to exist.

“Was it Jongin?” It was Yi Fan that at least broke the silence, bitterness handing from the name like a guillotine.

“Couldn’t have been.” Junmyeon’s eyebrows twitched together, mouth pulled into a scowl. “He’s on the run.”

“Only as far as we know.”

“He has no reason to show his face. He would have known that this would provoke us.” Junmyeon shudders, recalling the night where they had taken all the man had, and in return he took something of his own. “He’s in a bad position, and he knows it.”

“Then who the fuck did this?” Yi Fan growled, his hand connecting with the table loudly, “And what the fuck did Minseok tell them.”

Yi Fan did not doubt Minseok’s loyalty. The boy had been faultless in his entire time of service to Yi Fan, even when he didn’t deserve it. If not for Yi Fan, then for Junmyeon. Yi Fan had always expected that they had a soft spot for one another. Minseok would have rather died than give details that would put them in danger. Torture, however, was a different story. Pain had a funny way of making honest men out of liars, traitors out of the devout, snitches out of loyalists. It was why he held no contempt for Minseok, but rather the man who had done the injustice. There was no limit that Yi Fan could guess to the knowledge Minseok’s killer now possessed, and that made him a threat. Jongin was on the run, though it was yet to be seen how long his legs would carry him until the hit Yi Fan had put him caught up. It meant, however, that there was potentially a third player, and it was unnerving to not know who it was. Jongin could wait. This new threat was the priority, whoever the fuck it was. Yi Fan would have his head on a plate. Then he would go back for Jongin.


	5. Slumber

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween! I know I just posted my other fic (the Got7 one) but in the spirit of all that is spooky, I decided to post this as well. Besides, it kind of fits the Halloween aura. :^)

Kyungsoo hummed a tune softly as his hands worked, knife elegant as it passed through vegetables, each slice punctuated with a small tap of metal against wood. His phone sad off to the side, far enough that he didn’t have to worry about getting it dirty but close enough that he could still Jongdae’s voice through the speaker.

It had been nearly a week since he had given Jongin his name and number. He had been nervous at first, wondering if Jongin would take the information to the police. It had been stupid desperation that had incited the act in the first place, a grasp in the dark for some reassurance that he could help. But he hadn’t heard from the man at all, and Kyungsoo couldn’t decide if it was a good or bad thing. 

“I called the guy,” Jongdae’s voice crackles from the phone, “told him the hit is called off.”

The knife slipped in Kyungsoo’s hands as he floundered for a moment, blood welling up where it nicked his skin. “Jongdae, what the fuck?” His finger ached when he ran it under water, searching for a bandage in the cupboards in his kitchen.

“I’m not going to lie.” Jongdae scoffed at the idea, earning a glare that he couldn’t see. “That would get us into more trouble. He seemed pretty scared once he was done being furious. Hung up before I could even talk about the money, so I guess that means we can keep it.”

“Did he,” Kyungsoo paused to slow his breathing, “say anything about hiring someone else?” Jongdae hummed into the phone, the sound vibrating in the place where Kyungsoo’s heart- which was now somewhere in his stomach- used to be. “Did you find out when, or who?”

“What am I, a fucking genie?” It was odd seeing, or rather hearing, Jongdae so frazzled. Kyungsoo knew he should give him a break. It had been the right move to let the client know that they had to cancel, even if hurt to admit. It would have been worse if they had been found out after. It was often not just their reputations at stake in the business Kyungsoo ran. “It’s not like I was in the position to ask. He just yelled at me then hung up.”

Kyungsoo rubbed at his eyes, previous good mood diminished. “Okay, okay. What _do_ you know then?”

“Nothing.” He was finding it increasingly hard not to get frustrated at Jongdae, and had to remind himself that the man had no doubt done the best he could. It was why Kyungsoo trusted him. “But he seemed pretty eager to have Jongin’s head on a plate.”

“He’s _innocent_.”

“Maybe, but this guy doesn’t seem to think so.” Jongdae’s voice was heavy as spoke, weighted down with the dark truth of death creeping closer. “Jongin may be in more danger than we thought; this guy will put another hit on him, no doubt. I’m just worried that it may be sooner than either of us thought."

~ ~ ~

Though much of the client who had put a hit on Jongin remained a mystery, Kyungsoo could be sure of one thing; the man had money coming out of his ass. It was one thing to offer fifty thousand for an “easy” hit, another to not even bother trying to get the deposit back when said hit went sideways, and entirely another to blackout an entire building. If Kyungsoo hadn’t been so annoyed, he would have been impressed. It was intimidating to know that a man held such a power, even more so when Kyungsoo knew that that power was funneling into the effort of killing someone he was trying to protect.

Five days had passed since the hit had been called off, officially, that is. Really, Kyungsoo had known it would never happen the night he and Jongin met under the same apartment roof. It had been different then, he had been different then. The Kyungsoo back then wouldn’t drive by Jongin’s apartment every night, looking for any activity that he could classify as suspicious. After the first day, he convinced himself that it was the only sane thing to do. After the third, he doubted if it was necessary. And now, on the fifth, the apartment lay in darkened slumber, a black van he had never seen before parked askew on the concrete before it. His fingers gripped around the steering wheel until he could no longer feel them, breath fogging up the windows. He knew he couldn't wait. Every second was precious, and stupid as it may be, he knew he needed to step in.

The black van was empty when he pressed his face against its glass. The interior was pristine, save for some empty takeout bags and too paper cups, condensation beading on their sides. Kyungsoo tugged his gun from its holster on his hip, its weight making him feel safe. His feet were the only sound in the night as he tracked towards the emergency door half hidden between Jongin’s building and the one adjacent. He pushed it inward, no alarm sounding as it swung open, squeaking on its unused hinges. Kyungsoo had expected as much. The stairwell, cement, echoed each little sound his shoes made against the ground, making him wince with every step. 

He encountered nobody on his trip up to Jongin’s floor. He wondered, briefly, what the other residents of the apartment were doing. Did they go out for the night, abandoning their homes in favour of light and warmth? Were they holed up in their respective rooms with candles and blankets? Would they hear the gunshots, should Kyungsoo have to use them? Would he even care if they did?

Jongin’s hallway was quiet. Kyungsoo could hear his heart pounding in his ears, tensing at each door he passed. He felt watched, neck prickling at the smell of blood as he approached Jongin’s door. Shadows shifted in the edge of his vision, disappearing when his eyes flicked to look. He slowed as the door drew near. It was open, wood cracked where it had been kicked in. Slivers of paint and wood peppered the carpet, a screw glinting in the corner of the threshold. Kyungsoo granted himself one steadying breath, one squeeze around the grip before he spun around the wall, gaze darting around the familiar room. Nothing stirred. There was little light to see by, only the streetlight’s glow drifting in around the curtains. Kyungsoo crept forward, willing his heart to calm and his breathing to slow. The last thing he needed was to pass out.

His foot tapped against something, nearly causing him to trip. Kyungsoo looked down, his stomach churning at the sight that greeted him. A body. It was clad in black, hidden enough in the shadows that Kyungsoo hadn’t seen it on his initial sweep of the room. The floor was sticky, a pool of tar-like liquid radiating from the body. That explained the smell. It was face down, hair dark with the same blood that had leaked out onto the floor.

_God, please no. Please, please no._

Kyungsoo’s knees lowered to the ground just outside of the puddle, eyes burning. His hand reached out to grab the arm of the body- still warm- and pulled it upwards, flipping the body over with a sickeningly wet thump. The blood dripped and rippled slightly at the movement, half coagulated already. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, blinking away the tears that had started to form in his eyes. Not Jongin. He could tell even with what little of the face remained. Half of the head was smashed in, pieces of bone and brain sticking to the floor and hung on the webbed strings of blood stretched from the exposed skull to the ground. The bone surrounding the open wound was shattered, pieces chipped off and poking through the thin skin of the man’s cheek. One eye lay eternally open; it’s stare up at the ceiling dull. The other was nothing more than half of a bloody cave, in the similar deconstructed state as the rest of the skull.

Holding back a gag, Kyungsoo rose form the body, looking around the apartment for what, or who, could have caused so much damage. He searched the few rooms, finding no one. Most of the space looked untouched, unaware of the scene mere meters away. The bed was made, pillows fluffed, yet blood seeped over the floor of the foyer, soaking into the carpet of the living space. Jongin’s toothbrush sat contentedly in its holder, unaware of how the door lay in pieces. The bathroom smelled like shampoo, the rest of the apartment like blood. 

Kyungsoo left the apartment, standing in the hallway just outside in a mix of frustration and relief. Jongin wasn’t there. Kyungsoo couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not. He wasn’t sure what to do. Should he look for the man? Would there be a point? Jongin could have gotten away, yes, but he also could have been captured. What would become of him, if the latter was true? Kyungsoo couldn’t bear to think about it. 

A noise drifted through the hallway, brief enough that Kyungsoo was convinced that he had imagined it for a second. Then another sound; the metal click of a door swinging shut. He followed the sound, creeping around corners and past quiet rooms until he was met with the end of the hallway, the door leading to the stairwell the only thing that occupied the space. He pulled it open with one tug, braced for what would meet him on the other side. Nothing. A wetness dripped from his hand, and Kyungsoo brought it up to the light creeping in from the window in the stairwell to see it coated in a layer of red. Under inspection, the doorframe and handle was as well, blood smeared across the cement walls of the stairwell haphazardly. One dark handprint wrapped around the railing going down. Kyungsoo followed it, taking the occasional smear of red across the walls as confirmation that he was headed in the right direction. They stopped the next floor down, a final streak pulled across the door to the second story hallway. His fingers twitched, clenching into a fist for just a moment before reaching out to grasp the doorknob. 

Kyungsoo wondered if he had ever felt terror. He had been scared, sure, a few late-night horror movies making him double check he had locked the door, but that was trivial. What he felt now was choking, a cloying tar that oozed across his throat, threatening to stop the heart that was beating erratically in his chest. It crept up his neck, sucking all the moisture from his mouth, ringing in his head. Its tendrils wrapped themselves around his body, screaming at him to get out, squeezing on his ribcage until he couldn’t breathe, sewing his feet to the floor. Fuck, he didn’t want to open the door. He didn’t want to face what was on the other side. He was sure his hand wouldn’t listen to him even if he did.  
The door swung open. Confusion seeped through Kyungsoo’s mind. Had he pulled it? He couldn’t remember, couldn’t think. Had his arm acted on its own? His eyes searched the shadows of the hallway, making out the shape of a man in the threshold and Kyungsoo realized he wasn’t the one who had opened the door after all.

“ _You_.” The word was hissed, but the voice behind it familiar. “This was you all along.”

“No!” Kyungsoo cringed at the echoes of his voice, too loud, in the stairwell. He swallowed willing himself to calm down. He could feel the terror ebbing away, and in its place, a mixture of relief and exhaustion took hold. “No, I swear.”

“What the fuck are you doing here then?” Even in his current state, Jongin’s face brought comfort to Kyungsoo. His hair was matted with blood, his hands coated with it, and his shirt was ripped to reveal torn skin beneath. Kyungsoo could see where his lip swelled, where dried blood formed lines that ran from hid hair line and his mouth down to his jawline. 

“I-” God, what _was_ Kyungsoo doing here? How could he explain his presence to Jongin, when he could hardly explain it to himself. He could conjure no words in one moment, then too many in the next, spilling over one another in an attempt to leave his mouth in a sensible fashion. “I always come by your apartment to make sure everything is normal and tonight I saw that all the lights were off and there was a van out front so I came in to find you and there was a dead body in your room so I looked all over to see if you were still alive and I followed the trail of blood and that’s why I’m here.”

Kyungsoo was grateful for the darkness that encompassed them, if only for the fact that it hid the blush that, though already on his skin from his adrenaline alone, further deepened out of embarrassment. For a moment Jongin said nothing, staring at him as if trying to decide if Kyungsoo was telling the truth or not. A noise rolled down the hallway behind him, the oh-so familiar sound of a door being opened and shut.

“There’s another one.” Kyungsoo barely had time to process the harsh whisper before Jongin was grabbing his wrist and dragging him down the stairs, the pace leaving both of them breathless as they pushed open the exit door and spilled out onto the alleyway.

“My car is here.” It was Kyungsoo’s turn to lead now, their footsteps pounding over the concrete and echoing against the silent streets as they passed the black van and arrived at the car. He fumbled with his keys, unlocking it and sliding in behind the wheel and Jongin collapsed beside him. Kyungsoo wondered, briefly, how hard it was going to be to get the blood out of his seats. The car jolted forward, screeching slightly as he accelerated down the road. “Put your seatbelt on.”

“Are you fucking serious right now?” Jongin stared at him incredulously, noting that Kyungsoo himself did, in fact, have his own on. Kyungsoo glanced at him briefly, then braked hard, causing Jongin to fly forward, his head thumping against the front of the car. Jongin hissed, hand pressed to the spot where he had connected with the dash. “Fuck you,” he snarled, but still pulled the seatbelt across himself, ignoring the smug smirk that sat on Kyungsoo’s face.

“Do you have anywhere to go?” Kyungsoo asked, not taking his eyes off of the road. Jongin said nothing. “No? Fuck, ok I’ll take you to my place until we figure- shit my phone. Answer it. Put it on speaker.”

Jongin obeyed Kyungsoo’s hurried commands, holding the phone up between them. “Kyungsoo, it’s me.” Jongdae’s voice crackled over the speaker. “Listen, I have to tell you something. Are you busy?”

“I’m in the car right now.” Kyungsoo glanced over. “Jongin is with me.”

“What the fuck?!” Kyungsoo winced at Jongdae’s screech. The boy was too loud for his own good. “Why?”

“The second hit went through.” Kyungsoo could feel Jongin’s eyes boring into him, narrowed in suspicion. “As we feared. Jongin says there were two, but one of them was dead when I got there. I didn’t see the other one.”

“Who killed the first one?”

“I did.” There was silence following Jongin’s words, both from Kyungsoo and the phone. Jongin noticed Kyungsoo’s surprise, though the shock was more so at the matter-of-fact tone he used rather than the words themselves, and his eyes widened, head shaking back and forth. “I didn’t mean to! I was just scared. I panicked.”

“It’s ok, Jongin.” The comfort, surprisingly, came from Jongdae. “Where are you guys headed now? Kyungsoo’s house?”

The answer to the question never came. Kyungsoo had his mouth open to reply, but bright lights shining through his window gave him pause, long enough that he could utter no words before he was spinning, head slamming back against the seat as a metallic bang erupted broke the silence of the street. He could hear a squeal of tires, a crunch of glass and metal, the pop of airbags going off and the hiss of air that followed. Gravity seemed to spasm, throwing him against the door, then the roof, then back into his seat in some crude vertigo. A chorus of explosions thrummed against his eardrums, making his head ache, and just as suddenly as the commotion started, it stopped. 

What had happened? Kyungsoo blinked a few times, looking around him. His head was ringing and a warm wetness dripped down his face. Was is arm broken? He couldn’t tell. The airbag drooped from the steering wheel onto his lap, surrounded by bits of glass. He ached.

“Jongin?” He could barely hear his own voice over his heartbeat, each pulse throbbing black at the edge of his vision. He tried to turn to look around, but instantly regretted it, pain shooting through his back and up his neck. Shadows moved in the corner of the vision, shapes, figures, getting closer. Behind them, the great silhouette of a van, dark and silent. The one from the apartment? A different one? Was it merely an accident, or was the collision intentional? It was too much for Kyungsoo, he could barely keep his eyes open, barely think. It was getting harder after every second. There was a heavy weight on his chest, akin to the terror he had felt, growing and creeping all over his body, swallowing him whole. Maybe that’s what falling in love felt like. Or, more likely, it was what getting thrown around your car felt like.

Hands gripped his body, pulling him from the car. Kyungsoo didn’t, couldn’t, fight back. His body was limp in their hands. One word dominated his fading mind, one thought that had him holding on that fraction of a second longer. 

_Jongin._


	6. You Can Call Me Monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also known as the chapter where shit finally makes sense  
> Hello my lovelies! I am momentarily back from the dead! And posting this instead of working on my CNF piece that's due on Monday and I haven't started! Woo!
> 
> The next chapter is called The Clan. Can you guess why? :D

Kyungsoo woke up in an unfamiliar room. Any attempt to move brought to light the fact that he was tied to a chair, and as such he could only crane his neck to look around, though there wasn’t much to see. The room was dingy and stale, the only illumination coming from a bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. Goosebumps prickled along his skin, wrists aching from where ropes pressed into the flesh, holding him against the unforgiving wood of the chair’s armrests. He couldn’t find an inch of his body that didn’t ache, but the pain was welcome. It sharpened him, dredged memories out of the foggy deep that was his current state of mind.

How many hours, days, had he been out? It was impossible to tell; the room was void of any windows or clocks, the only adornments a ratted bed and the chair he currently occupied. This was not good. He remembered the blackout, the body, Jongin dragging him out of the apartment and them getting into Kyungsoo’s car. What then? Where was he? Where was Jongin? Too many questions swirled in his mind too quickly, making pain throb in his temples.

The door rattled, startling Kyungsoo back into focused thought. He stared at it as it swung open, squinting at the bright light that poured in through the frame. A figure stood before him, kicking the door closed and plunging to room once more into near darkness. A sense of unwelcome déjà vu washed over Kyungsoo, further amplified when he saw who had joined him in his prison.

“Jongin?”

The man smiled. “You are looking well. Better than before, at least.”

“What- who- what’s going on? Where am I?”

Jongin nodded, shushing Kyungsoo with a raised finger. “I understand your confusion. And I’ll be happy to answer all your questions, but first, are you thirsty?” He produced a juice box from inside his coat, punching the straw through the foil and bringing it up to Kyungsoo’s lips. He smiled at the slurping sounds that followed, feeling the juice box become lighter and lighter in his hand until it was empty.

“Where am I?” Kyungsoo looked up at Jongin, then around the room, a silent echo of the question.

“My house,” Jongin answered simply. The answer raised more questions. This was not Jongin’s apartment, which was what Kyungsoo would have assumed he meant by his house. Where were they, really?

“How did I get here?” The question made Jongin grimace slightly, and Kyungsoo felt slightly proud at having caused the reaction, though he wasn’t sure why.

“I brought you here. Do you remember the incident with your car?” Kyungsoo squinted, shook his head. “Hm. I’ll tell that to you later. I think it might be better just to explain everything chronologically, rather than bounce around like this.” Kyungsoo nodded, Jongin repeating the action back to him. “I guess I should start with who is behind all this. Who keeps putting hits on me.”

“You knew?”

“Don’t interrupt. His name is Yi Fan. He is the leader of a high-end drug and illegal weapon smuggling crew. As you probably have guessed by now, he is powerful. Dangerous. And he wants me dead.”

“Why does he want you dead? Why doesn’t he just do it himself if he wants it so bad?” Kyungsoo shifted in his chair, wincing at the pain throbbing from his wrists. He wondered if Jongin would untie him if he asked. “It’s not like the whole hitman thing has worked out so far.”

“The answer to both of those questions,” Jongin’s lips pulled into a half smirk, “is fear. He’s scared of me. I’m a threat.”

“Why is he scared of you.” Kyungsoo raised an eyebrow. _He_ certainly wasn’t scared of Jongin, but he was beginning to get the notion that he should be. At his question, Jongin’s face split into a full grin, wicked and wolfish.

“Because,” he cooed, leaning closer, “I killed his brother.”

Kyungsoo froze, dread creeping through him like vines, tightening around his throat, filling his lungs, squeezing around his heart. He had been wrong. He was never wrong. It was why Jongdae trusted his decision not to kill Jongin. Jongdae. Was he okay? Fuck, Kyungsoo should have just listened to him. He should have just done the hit, collected the money. He remembered looking for a reason that the hit was so expensive. This was it. Jongin was a murderer and had convinced Kyungsoo he wasn’t. No. Kyungsoo had convinced himself. No, no, this couldn’t be right. Jongin was _innocent_. He hadn’t even touched Kyungsoo on the night they met in his apartment. Kyungsoo had been so close, _so close_ , to killing him, and Jongin just sat there and took it with teary eyes. But the body, the body missing half of its skull, the blood on Jongin’s hands. Oh, god. 

Jongin let Kyungsoo sit in silence for a moment, his eyes unmoving from his face. Then he tilted his head, lips tugging upward. “You know, I really ought to thank you, Kyungsoo.” He said his name with a purr, his fingers running slowly through Kyungsoo’s hair. “I knew that bastard Yi Fan would have someone come to kill me eventually, but I didn’t know when. I didn’t know _who_. I needed time. Why do you think I stayed in that shitty apartment? I needed to throw them off my trail, go into hiding, just long enough that I could track down Yi Fan and finish this for good.” Jongin nodded to himself, looking down at Kyungsoo’s restrained hands then back up to his face. “Still, I couldn’t have done it without you.” There was an odd sort of fondness in his voice. Appreciation? Appraisal? Or perhaps condescension? “I needed someone to waste time, someone who could put my enemies at ease long enough for me to get what I needed together and take them out. And you, my dear Kyungsoo, were all too happy to play the part. You warned me about the bounty on my head, offered assistance, hell, you even got to my house before my men did, and I didn’t even have to call you. That was the van that hit us, by the way. My men thought you worked for Yi Fan and had either killed or kidnapped me. Idiots. I guess it was a good thing you make me put on my seatbelt after all.”

What would have happened if Kyungsoo hadn’t? Would he be in the same position as he was now? The mention of the crash brought surfaced memories of twisting metal and shattered glass, pain and vertigo. He remembered the lights in his window, how the world was upside down for a moment, the way the airbag felt slamming into his face. Even then, even as his consciousness slowly faded, he was thinking of Jongin. Stupid.

“Tell me, Kyungsoo.” Jongin’s voice brought him back to the present, where his body still ached but the metal and glass were gone. “How much did he offer you for my head? I suppose it couldn’t have been much, seeing as it only took a couple of tears to say your opinion.”

Kyungsoo gritted his teeth, wincing at the way the action sent a bolt of pain through his jaw. “You didn’t need my help.”

Jongin hummed. “No, but it was awfully cute watching you try.”

Tears pricked at Kyungsoo’s eyes, his mind haunted with fear, betrayal, a deep throb within him that he couldn’t place. It sad on his lungs, filled his throat, pounded at the back of his eyes. “Asshole.”

“Am I?” Jongin narrowed his eyes, leaning in until their faces were inches away. “I did what I had to do. Tell my honestly, Soo,” Kyungsoo winced at the pet name, “Would I still be standing before you today if I had confessed to the murder the night you broke into my apartment?”

“It’s different,” Kyungsoo pleaded.

“It’s not.”

“It is! I didn’t mean to get mixed up in all this. I was just to do my job. I didn’t know you back then, didn’t love-” Kyungsoo froze, watching Jongin’s body tense, his eyebrows inch together. Jongin took his jaw with surprising gentleness, forcing Kyungsoo to look at him.

“What did you just say?” His voice was deliciously low. Kyungsoo shook his head, lips pressed together. Jongin tightened his grip on Kyungsoo’s already bruised jaw, the latter yelping out in pain. “Kyungsoo. What. Did. You. Say?”

“I said I didn’t loathe you.” Kyungsoo spat the words, half sure his heart had either stopped beating or was beating too fast for him to feel it anymore. “I was just doing a hit, there was nothing personal about it. Like you said; I was just doing what I had to.”

Jongin stared at him a moment longer, letting the air between them thicken and chill. Then he sighed, releasing Kyungsoo’s jaw and straightening back up. He turned, retreating until he was at the door. He paused, one hand on the doorknob. Kyungsoo held his breath, blinking rapidly in an attempt to stave off the oncoming wetness in his eyes. He heard Jongin take a breath, saw his head shake. “You don’t like to make things, easy, do you?” Then he was gone, shutting the door behind him and leaving Kyungsoo alone in the dark.

~ ~ ~

Kyungsoo was alive. He didn’t know why. He was of no use to Jongin, and it had been made clear that the man certainly wasn’t going to release him any time soon. He had, at least, transferred Kyungsoo to a new, slightly more comfortable room, in which he was allowed to wander at his pleasure. It was a small step up from the cell he had been in earlier, but nowhere near what Kyungsoo would call nice. The floor was cold hardwood, walls a deep red and interrupted by a single window overlooking a kempt yard. Thick metal bars spanned the window, if ever Kyungsoo got the inclination to jump from the height. The bed was nicer, bigger, but there were no sheets on it. Kyungsoo assumed it had something to do with safety precautions, though he couldn’t be sure whether it was for him or Jongin. Beside the bed sat an oddly fancy cabinet turned side-table, mismatched with the rest of the room. In it Kyungsoo kept his clothes, though he really only had the pair he had come in, a few shirts and pants that Jongin supplied, and a single pair of pajamas. Kyungsoo couldn’t deny how pitiful his existence had become.

Jongin visited often. Most of the time Kyungsoo didn’t want to speak to him, but he was glad for the company. It kept him sane. In these times, Kyungsoo was only allowed on the bed; Jongin sat on a chair across the room beside the door. A guard always accompanied him, fingers held surely around the grip of a gun. Kyungsoo made them uncomfortable. That was clear enough to see. He was an uncertainty, a threat of unknown magnitude. 

It was during these times that Kyungsoo learned more about Jongin. The man would often talk about people in his field, straying once or twice to how his hunt for Yi Fan was going, and despite himself, Kyungsoo grew to enjoy those days most.

“Why do you two hate each other so much?” He asked one day, listening to the patter of rain on the window. “When did this all start?”

“I never really liked Yi Fan.” Jongin shrugged, following Kyungsoo’s gaze and letting thunder fill the silence that followed his words. “We were operating too close to one another, and growing too fast to find other space to fill. Violence between my group and his was inevitable. One bought was particularly bad; he and his brother surprised a group of my men and I while we were supposed to be closing off a deal with a foreign contact. He got the vast majority of my workers, but not before I managed to kill his brother.” Another shrug, as if Jongin was talking about the foul weather throwing itself against the window. “He hasn’t forgiven me, and refuses to see that it was his fault. He would kill me out of vengeance, and I out of necessity. There is no other way.”

“What does this have to do with me?” Kyungsoo shifted on the bed, swinging his legs over the edge and leaning forward. The guard narrowed his eyes, shifting his position slightly. It was always fun to keep their feathers ruffled, and this particular one Kyungsoo had seen often. Despite his height, Kyungsoo couldn’t find himself to be intimidated by the man, even if he had been the most protective of Jongin’s guards. “I didn’t know either of you before this. It’s sure as hell not my fault for getting mixed up in it.”

“You know my face,” Jongin drawled almost absentmindedly, playing with a knife and not looking up at Kyungsoo. “You know too much.”

“You think I’ll go to the police with this?” Kyungsoo scoffed, daring to look as Jongin like he had lost his mind. Jongin looked up at him, face void of any tells, and raised an eyebrow. “In case you haven’t noticed,” Kyungsoo gestured to himself, “I kill people for a living. I wouldn’t tell anyone.” It wasn’t as if he had many people to tell anyways. Kyungsoo wondered if Jongdae missed him, if Wheein did. He wondered if she had voiced her concerns to Jongin, because she was the type of person that would worry, and Jongin was the type of person that would pretend to care. “I’m not a fucking pet. You can’t keep me here.”

“I could kill you instead?” Jongin offered, and it hurt, for some reason, how easily the words fell from his lips, as if he were discussing what to eat for dinner. Kyungsoo felt extinguished. He always did when Jongin came to talk. Maybe that was what he was trying to do; drown him in darkness and misplaced hope. It was a slow, unusual torture, but no less cruel, and Kyungsoo could feel himself chipping way into the lifeless walls and dull, worn floor. This room would swallow him up. Kyungsoo wondered if it already had.


	7. The Clan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I posting this to procrastinate studying for my physics final? Yes, yes I am.  
> This fic always makes me crave Jongin's drink otl why do I play myself like this  
> Enjoy!!

The room was the only place Kyungsoo was truly alone. It was the only place he was allowed without supervision. Well, as long as Jongin wasn’t visiting. Then, even Kyungsoo’s room would have at least one guard in it, and oh, how Kyungsoo despised them. The uneasy looks they sent in his direction, how their hands tightened on their weapons if he so much as looked at Jongin the wrong way. Their presence was unsettling, disturbing the resigned atmosphere Jongin had built up around him. 

Kyungsoo didn’t spend all his time in the room, however. He had, for the first week or so, explored the vast and seemingly endless hallways of Jongin’s manor. He always had a guard on his heels, and encountered many more roaming the hallways. Kyungsoo thought it excessive at first, but small talk with one of the assistants had unearthed the knowledge that Jongin had shared the house with two other men that ran sub-divisions and did the micromanaging of many of the operations that Jongin oversaw. Kyungsoo hadn’t seen either man- they spent most of their time out of the house- but he had heard of them multiple times, most of which he was certain he wasn’t supposed to hear. Maids with tears in their eyes would push past him, others flocking around and asking what ‘Sehun’ had done this time, their voices worrisome and eyes hateful. Kyungsoo figured he wouldn’t like the man. The other didn’t shake up the house nearly as much, to the point where Kyungsoo wondered if he was even real. It was only when he heard a guard complaining about getting chewed out by a certain ‘Chanyeol’ for walking too loudly on his night shift that Kyungsoo finally accepted his ghost-like existence. The guard’s voice shook as he explained his rather traumatic ordeal, and Kyungsoo couldn’t help but imagine that the guard was crying as well.

Most days, Kyungsoo would spend hours in the kitchen, helping or chatting with the cook. The girl had been resistant at first, worried about getting in trouble, but one talk with Jongin confirmed that Kyungsoo was, in fact, allowed to help without repercussions to either of them. Since then, he had spent many afternoons chatting and laughing with the chef, who he had come to know as Yongsun. She brought a sense of normalcy back into his life, as if he was merely preparing dinner for a friend and he planned to catch up with all evening. Kyungsoo imagined that she would get alone quite well with Wheein, should their paths ever cross. 

Other times he simply stayed outside in the large plot of land made to be Jongin’s backyard. He would spend hours there, mingling in the high walled yard, admiring the bunches of flowers that grew sporadically through the grass, or resting under the shade of the few but large trees positioned too far from the walls to use as means of escape. Clever.

Kyungsoo did, however, have quite a few disagreements with the guards assigned as his watch, many of which ended with a dead body left for the maids to find. He would be lying if he said he didn’t start most of them. He was sick of being babied, of having someone watching over his shoulder every second of the day. It made him paranoid, unsettled. With men dropping left and right, Kyungsoo knew eventually something had to give. He was glad it was Jongin.

“Kyungsoo,” the man said darkly, staring down at Kyungsoo’s latest handiwork. The guard had told him that it was too cold to go outside, and it probably was, but the statement had earned him a broken neck. “You can’t keep killing my guards. This is hardly the first time I had a maid come crying to me about dead bodies in the hallways.” Kyungsoo shrugged, feigning apathy and waiting for Jongin to continue. “My guards are starting to protest being assigned to you.”

“Don’t assign them then.”

Jongin frowned, looking up from the body to study Kyungsoo’s face darkly. “You know I can’t do that.” He pointed at the body, nudging it slightly with his foot. “These men have been handpicked and trained half to death. They have been schooled in multiple hand to hand combat practices, and take monthly firearm accuracy tests. They are the best of the best, and yet,” Jongin narrowed his eyes, a hand coming up to rub at his jaw, “you dispose of them like children.”

Despite himself, Kyungsoo preened under the praise, if he could even call it that. There was a certain disgust in Jongin’s voice, but beneath it Kyungsoo could swear he heard admiration. “ _I_ am the best of the best,” he clarified, one side of his mouth quirked upwards. “If you think I got this far being anything less, then you’re a fucking idiot.”

Silence stewed between them, long enough that Kyungsoo wondered if he had offended Jongin. He didn’t really care, but given his current position, he knew better than to get on the man’s bad side.

“I know a man,” Jongin began at last, the words dripping from his lips brimming with self-assurance, “that specializes in torture. He can get information out of anyone, make the strongest men cry for their mother’s wombs. He used to be a cook actually.” Jongin chuckled as if sharing a joke with himself. “I suppose that’s why he’s so damn good at fileting people. He knows just where to cut to made you want to die, and just how deep to keep you alive. This man owes me a few favours, and I have no problem calling them in, if need be.”

Kyungsoo shifted uneasily. He felt as if he had eyes watching him, though this was the first time that he and Jongin had been truly alone. “Your point?”

The grin Jongin sent Kyungsoo tasted like iron in his mouth. “I am willing to offer you an… opportunity.” Kyungsoo perked at the word. “A chance to get out of the house, to see the world and do what you do best. By my side, of course.”

It was a chance that excited Kyungsoo, but it would be foolish to think that there wasn’t some ulterior motive. Maybe Jongin just wanted a body guard that couldn’t be bested by their own prisoner. “The catch?”

Jongin surprised Kyungsoo by laughing: short, humorless barks that made him grit his teeth. “Ah, you really are clever, aren’t you? The catch is that I know about Jongdae. Where he lives, what he does. And I’ve assigned someone quite special to track him, to keep eyes on his every movement. Let’s just say I called in a favour.” A wicked smile crept across Jongin’s face, curved and sharp, like the blade Kyungsoo desperately wanted to drive into his neck. “And if I call the order, or if this special someone hears of my death, well, I’ll leave you to imagine what would happen to poor little Jongdae.”

It was insurance. It was the price to pay for Kyungsoo’s faux freedom. It wasn’t fair. Jongin made an offer they both knew he couldn’t deny, but at a price Kyungsoo couldn’t bear to pay. Still, he could feel his mind chipping away into the cold walls and unforgiving floor. “I won’t kill you.” His voice was serious, the words true despite him wishing they weren’t. Jongdae wasn’t worth the risk. “But I can’t say the same for everyone else. There are plenty of ways to die that don’t involve me. What then?”

Jongin turned to leave, his shoulders raising slightly in a half assed shrug. “Do a good job, Kyungsoo. Both mine and Jongdae’s life depend on it.”

~ ~ ~

Kyungsoo got his first taste of the outside world four days later. The morning was rushed, rough hands jostling him awake and tired voice telling him to put on clothes. Kyungsoo was too disoriented to do anything but obey, though the presence of so many so early in the morning irked him. He pulled the same pants he had worn the day before over his legs, hastily buttoning up a shirt as he was dragged out of the room and through the house. They stopped in front of the front door briefly, just long enough for one of the guards to slip a blindfold over Kyungsoo’s eyes. He wondered, momentarily, if these weren’t Jongin’s men at all and if he had just aided in his own kidnapping. Then the moment was over and Kyungsoo was dragged through the door, drawing into himself subconsciously as a meager defense against the bitter air. His hands stretched out in front of him as he walked, grasping around the empty air until they were met with cold metal. The hands pushed him forward, his body folding in on itself as he ungracefully collapsed into the leather seat of a car. An unheated seat, he may have added scornfully.

A little more shuffling, some shouted orders, the slam of the car door beside him, and then the only sound was the car rumbling beneath him. Kyungsoo sat in silence, feeling the vehicle’s vibrations and resisting the pull as the car took countless turns, too many to keep track of. He said nothing, not sure if he was alone and too scared to take the blindfold off in case he wasn’t. 

Countless more turns and a multitude of what Kyungsoo imagined were streetlights later, the car stopped, its wheels crunching to a halt on gravel, though its engine did not cease its rumble. A pit stop, perhaps?

“You can take that off now, Kyungsoo.” Jongin’s voice came from beside him. So he wasn't alone.

Kyungsoo recognized his surroundings instantly. The familiar streets, storefronts he had passed so many times before. The café. Wheein. Kyungsoo could see her through the window, happily ringing a customer through and laughing at something the man had said. Kyungsoo’s heart nearly broke at the sight. 

“Stay.” Jongin’s voice pulled Kyungsoo’s eyes away from the sight. He nodded slightly before returning his gaze to the girl, unsure of why he had missed her so much. It was overwhelming. He watched Jongin swing the door of the café open, saw Wheein’s face light up at the sight of him. It made Kyungsoo sick. He hated how he could nearly hear her squeal of delight, how she threw her arms around Jongin, how her hands playfully hit his chest. She deserved better, even if she didn’t know it herself. 

Brief as it was, Kyungsoo was grateful for Jongin’s absence. The time allowed him to compose himself slightly, to steady his breathing. By the time Jongin slid back in to the car, two steaming cups in hand, Kyungsoo had rebuilt his emotionless façade. Good. He didn’t need Jongin knowing he was so easy to upset.

One of the cups was held out to Kyungsoo. He could recognize the smell, he knew the only drink Jongin would ever order from the café. And fuck him, but Kyungsoo simply couldn’t say no. He accepted the drink with a glare. It tasted the way a hug felt. It tasted like home. It tasted like the life Kyungsoo never had, the one where he had not been assigned the case that had gotten him into so much shit, where the walls that Kyungsoo had set up around himself didn’t have to exist. It tasted like Jongin.

The afternoon was mostly driving. Jongin talked. Kyungsoo didn’t. They passed shops and city streets, then suburban houses, then empty fields of crop, finally turning off the paved road and onto a gravel one as the sun began painting the sky orange. The car stopped a few hundred feet from a farmhouse, and this time it did turn off, dipping the night back into silence. 

“Abandoned barn?” Kyungsoo raised an eyebrow, unable to keep the sneer from his voice. “How very serial killer-esque of you. What’s next, a chainsaw wielding maniac? Do you plan on wearing my face as a mask? Was that whole work for me bullshit just so I would come quietly to your house of horrors?”

Jongin rolled his eyes, pushing the door open. “Don’t be dramatic.” Kyungsoo followed him into the air, colder now that the sun had begun its decent. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead. We’re here for business.”

Kyungsoo said no more, the familiar words echoing in his ears. He followed Jongin towards the barn, staying close if only for the fact that it the empty plains were creepy in the darkness. The grass, far beyond overgrown, brushed at their legs as they passed, disturbing the many crickets that chirped somewhere in the night. The light inside the farmhouse was on, rays seeping from the cracks in the wood to illuminate the dirt around it. Kyungsoo squinted against it, wincing as Jongin threw the door open.

They were greeted with five pairs of eyes, each belonging to a man that Kyungsoo had never seen before.

“Jongin.” One of the men greeted. He was an unsettling combination of dark eyes and fidgeting hands, the dimples on his face doing nothing to dissuade the essence of danger that nearly dripped from his figure. His lips were pulled back in a smile, one that Kyungsoo figured was fake, to reveal a set of pristine teeth. He made Kyungsoo uncomfortable. The men that flanked him, though intimidating in their own right, were not as imposing. If anything, they themselves looked uncomfortable, shifting their weight and never taking their eyes off Jongin. In their gaze stewed hatred, and Kyungsoo wondered just what Jongin had done to piss them off. “Always good to see you. Is this a new bodyguard? Kind of small, isn’t he? Cute though.”

Jongin’s voice was tense when he spoke. “Let’s not waste time, Jooheon. Do you have it or not?”

The man, Jooheon, tutted, gesturing one of his own men forward. “Never the one were small talk, are you? Very well.” He held his hand out, and Kyungsoo could see the man he had called forward tugging something out of his bag. He placed the item in Jooheon’s palm, but its presence did nothing to untangle the confusion in Kyungsoo’s mind. It was a cylinder, the size of Kyungsoo’s forearm, its surface void of any markings. It’s presence, however, put a smile on Jongin’s face, so Kyungsoo could assume that it was good news.  
Watching Jongin, Kyungsoo hadn’t noticed that Jooheon had begun walking forward until he was stopped by a raised hand, Jongin nodding towards another man from the group. Jooheon raised an eyebrow at the action, but shrugged after a moment, not bothering to argue the order. “Hoseok,” he called, holding out the object as another man stepped forward.

It was hard to hear much over the pounding of his heart, but Kyungsoo was lucid enough to recognize Jongin’s voice calling him forward, and stepped up beside him. Jongin’s hand wrapped around his arm, tugging him close so he could press his lips to his ear. “Don’t worry.” There was a certain arrogance in Jongin’s voice, a self-assurance that calmed Kyungsoo slightly. “They won’t do shit.”

A final shove sent Kyungsoo stumbling forward into the no man’s land between Jongin and Jooheon. It was there that Hoseok met him, dropping the surprisingly heavy plastic cylinder into his hands. Kyungsoo looked down at it, then back up at Hoseok, his eyes wide. The man merely winked, spinning away with an unexpected grace and sauntering back into his original position. Kyungsoo could feel everyone’s eyes on him as he made his way back to Jongin, a kaleidoscope of curiosity, smugness, and malice.

“You have it now.” Jooheon broke the silence, and Kyungsoo could hear the slightest waver in his voice. “We held up our side. Give us Kihyun and Minhyuk back.”

Kyungsoo’s eyes flicked up to Jongin’s face. So that was the cause of his confidence. He should have known the man wouldn’t walk into a potentially dangerous situation without the upper hand. It irked him that Jongin hadn’t told him beforehand, however; it would have set Kyungsoo at ease, if only by a little bit.

To everyone but Kyungsoo’s surprise, Jongin chuckled, reaching out to grab the cylinder when Kyungsoo was close enough. “Am I a fucking idiot?” Kyungsoo turned just in time to see Jooheon sputter, unable to form coherent sentences from the sheer surprise of Jongin’s words. “You will get them back after confirmation that this works. What a mess it would be if this turned out to be faulty, not to mention the possibility of you making a second remote to keep for yourself.”

“That was not the deal,” one of Jooheon’s men growled. He was tall, his shirt stretched taught over his body. The man’s eyes were akin to those that lurked in the depths of forests, watching, calculating. Dangerous. The size of him alone sent a shiver down Kyungsoo’s spine, and he decided in that moment that he was glad to have Jongin with him. He would not want to face these men alone.

“They will not be harmed.” Jongin shot them one last smile at Jooheon, who looked quite rabid, then spun, his hand encircling Kyungsoo’s wrist and dragging him out of the barn, back into the night. 

Kyungsoo had forgotten where they were; the peaceful night, the sway of the grass and chirps of crickets, so polar to the scene that had happened inside the farmhouse. The car stood humbly in the quiet, waiting to take them home and none the wiser to the business that had just taken place. They were not stopped on their way to the car; the only thing that interrupted their journey was an unsettling bang from inside the barn, followed by the creak of wood that usually meant something had broken. Kyungsoo didn’t blame them. He would be angry too.

Most of the ride home was silent. Kyungsoo didn’t want to talk to Jongin. The only thing he did say was a question, eyes looking at the device on the car seat beside him. “What is it?”

“Hmm?” Jongin’s gaze pulled from the window to stare at Kyungsoo’s face, following his line of sight. “Oh. That’s for Yi Fan.” Kyungsoo raised an eyebrow. “Go to sleep.”

“Jongin, what is it?”

“Don’t think about it too much,” Jongin tucked it behind him, a wicked smile carved out on his face. He looked, in that moment, the way a child did when they had a secret. His hands were restless, an exhaustion from the late hour driven off by eager anticipation. “but it’s a bomb. We’re going to end this, Kyungsoo.”


	8. Pink

Kyungsoo _ached_. His body felt stretched, taken apart and put together in a way that wasn’t quite right. Ever since Jongin had assigned him the position of bodyguard weeks prior, Kyungsoo had been tested physically to the point where even sitting up in bed brought tears to his eyes. Jongin seemed to be impatient, planning and meeting with groups that Kyungsoo never even knew existed. Sometimes such meeting would go off seamlessly. Sometimes. Kyungsoo considered keeping track of the deals that went off the rails, but decided against it; it would just frustrate him. Jongin had a way about him, an arrogance that Kyungsoo had gotten used to but seemed to piss most other people off.

A lot of people seemed to want Kim Jongin dead. It was strenuous activity protecting him from the messes he made, a nonstop battle that would more often than not leave Kyungsoo bed ridden for days. Had Kyungsoo not known about the hatchet looming over their heads, getting closer with each passing day, he would have assumed it was a game to Jongin rather than time constrained desperation, that he rustled people up just to watch Kyungsoo dispose of them.

Though he had never been in terrible shape- having to kill people for a living required at least a moderate physique- Kyungsoo decided one night while staring at his body in the mirror that he was in the best physical condition he had ever been. It was odd. It didn’t look like his body; his soft tummy was nowhere to be seen, and instead stuck flat against him, gentle ridges where the beginnings of abs were forming spotted with bruises and scars. His arms and chest too seemed thicker, if his ill-fitting shirts were anything to go by. He would have to ask Jongin to buy him a bigger size. They irritated the stiches and scabs that trailed up his arms. Kyungsoo couldn’t decide if his body was a mess or a masterpiece.

A gentle knock brought Kyungsoo out of his self-evaluation. He looked around quickly, wrapping a towel around his waist before swinging the door open, cringing at what it revealed. “I really can’t-”

“No, no, we’re not going out today.” Kyungsoo didn’t miss the way Jongin’s eyes travelled down his bare torso, his eyebrows twitching as he studied the purple and black archipelago mottled across the skin. “I’m just here to, uh,” he blinked, looking back up at Kyungsoo’s face. “Here.” A bottle of pills was set on the counter before them, its contents rattling slightly at the disruption. 

Kyungsoo picked it up, eyes narrowing as he read the contents. “Is this even legal without a prescription?”

“It’s the only painkiller I had.” And fuck if Jongin didn’t look slightly sheepish in that moment, his shrug of nonchalance doing nothing to distract Kyungsoo from the slight pink hue blessing the tan skin of Jongin’s cheeks. “And this.” He set a sphere on the counter as well, a deep pink that seemed to rub off onto Jongin’s hand.

“Is that a bath bomb?” Kyungsoo’s bathroom didn’t have a bath, but the gift itself surprising enough that he didn’t even consider the impracticality of it. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t at least a little bit flustered at the gift. “You got me a bath bomb?”

“It’s from Yongsun.” The words were said too quickly, followed by a scoff as Jongin brushed the pink powder from his hands.

“Oh.” That made more sense. It warmed him a little to know that she was still looking out for him, even though they had had little time together since Jongin had given him his job. “I should thank her.”

“No,” Jongin snapped, surprising the both of them. He cleared his throat, speaking again with a more reasonable tone. “I don’t think you should. She already knows when she’s appreciated, it would likely make her uncomfortable if you say it out loud.” Jongin’s gaze darted away from Kyungsoo, searching the bathroom. “You don’t have a bath.”

The realization made Kyungsoo’s heart sink. “I don’t.”

Jongin muttered something to himself, suspiciously close sounding to the word stupid, but quiet enough that Kyungsoo couldn’t be sure. “You’ll have to use a different bathroom then. You shouldn’t let her gift go to waste.”

“A different- really?” For the entirety of his stay at Jongin’s house, Kyungsoo had only used one bathroom. It was small but well kept, and he didn’t consider it to be very far from his own bathroom back home. “Where?”

Once he completed the tasks of tugging his clothes back on and obeying the order to swallow one of the pills from the bottle, he followed Jongin out into the hallway, one hand fisted in his towel from excitement and the other clutching the bath bomb gently. He realized it was stupid to be so giddy at the thought of a bathroom, but the bomb smelled something of flowers, and he delighted in the idea of sinking his arching body into hot water. Jongin called a girl over, interrupting her cleaning of the windows, and whispered something in her ear. She looked over at Kyungsoo with a confused frown, but nodded, lips soon pulling into a practiced smile.

“Please follow me, Kyungsoo.” Her voice was as fake as her grin, but Kyungsoo paid it no mind, trailing her steps through the corridors. They came upon a large set of doors, thick wood carved with intricate designs. He had passed them many times in the first few days of being allowed to wander the house, but he had never had the courage to go through them, assuming it wasn’t allowed. The girl, however, pushed them open easily, waiting until Kyungsoo had entered the room before closing them behind him.

_What a fucking room._ The ceiling soared above him, and from it hung a multitude of individual round lights, casting the room in a soft glow. It reminded Kyungsoo of the days when there was the slightest covering of clouds, and the whole sky seemed to glow with light. The walls themselves were a warm grey- could grey be warm? Kyungsoo wasn’t sure, but if it could then these walls were the prime example- their faces void of any pictures. Deep red curtains covered one wall, and Kyungsoo realized that it must be a window, shut tight against the cold night air. The bed matched the curtains, plush pillows stacked upon an excessively large mattress. A wardrobe sat in one corner, its hulking presence painted in mahogany. _A fucking room._

“Kyungsoo?” The girls voice was slightly concerned. He hadn’t realized he had been gawking.  
“I’ve never been in here before.”

“Ah, it must be overwhelming.” This time the smile she flashed him seemed genuine, despite her poorly hidden impatience. “It’s nice, but if you’ll come this way, I started your bath.” She gestured to a door nestled in one wall, the sound of gurgling water coming from beyond it. Kyungsoo followed it with unchecked eagerness, deciding to allow himself the childish excitement of a bath.

_What a fucking bathroom._

“Is there anything else you need?”

Kyungsoo looked over at the sound of the girl’s voice, shaking his head. He could figure out the bath, and she didn’t really look like she wanted to watch him undress. “No, thank you.”

His clothes were off the moment she closed the door behind her, his body protesting at the quick movement. He sat on the edge of the tub, watching the water level rise and ignoring the idea of letting it overflow, offered by that small corner in his brain that had other thoughts such as wondering what it would feel like to stab himself in the hand with a fork. He figured everyone thought those things, and wasn’t particularly worried. 

The logical side of his brain stopped the water at a reasonable level, dropping the bath bomb in and watching it fizz and bleed out its pinkish colour. He followed it into the water seconds later, groaning at the heat enclosing him. Fuck, he needed this. His let his head rest against the edge of the tub, relaxing into rose-scented halcyon. Something tickled his leg and he opened his eyes briefly to see red petals floating in the water. How unnecessary. He loved it. He didn’t care what Jongin had to say; he needed to thank Yongsun.

The bath, as most baths do, turned cold far faster than Kyungsoo would have liked. He pouted as he dragged his body out of the water, no longer aching thanks to the pill Jongin gave him, and watched the water spin as it drained, sucking down the flowers in a pink tornado. He felt _good_. It had been a while. 

When he exited the grand bedroom, there was no one in the hallway. He peeked around corners, towel wrapped around his waist since he wasn’t about to put his dirty clothes back on. There were a pair of guards standing outside another large set of doors, their voices quiet as they talked to one another. Kyungsoo sighed. There was no way getting around it. Mustering up his pride, he walked, barefoot, over the carpet, ignoring the twin stares he received and pretending he couldn’t hear the muffled snickers after he had passed. 

After a quick stop in his room to get dressed, Kyungsoo made his way to the kitchen. It felt weird to be alone, no guards or Jongin shadowing his every move. He kind of missed it, though the thought made him angry. He wondered when he had become so needy.

“Kyungsoo!” Yongsun shot him a smile that put the sun to shame. She bounced from foot to foot in joy, rushing forward to encompass him in a hug. God, it felt good to be hugged. “Long time no see! Hungry? Jongin’s not here, he’s been out for a little while, but if you stay I’ll whip you up something. He should be back any minute now.”

“That sounds great.” Kyungsoo ruffled her hair, feeling his heart swell. He really did miss her; he missed the days when they would spend hours together cooking and talking and laughing. “And I wanted to thank you for the bath bomb you gave me. It was a-ma-zing.”

“The what?” Yongsun frowned, tilting her head in confusion. God, she was such a puppy. Did maternal instincts exist in men? Kyungsoo thought he had them.  
“The bath bomb?” Kyungsoo repeated, “The one Jongin gave to me. He said it was from you.”

Yongsun’s face was calculating for a moment, then lit up again, sticking out her tongue as she punched his chest lightly. “Oh! Yeah that was from me. I’ve been so busy it slipped my mind. I’m so glad you liked it. Was that the… blue one?”

“Pink.”

“Oh yes, pink,” Yongsun agreed, spinning away to rummage around in the fridge. “I was stuck between blue and pink, but decided on the pink. It smelled really good, I remember.”  
Kyungsoo lifted himself onto one of the high stools on the other side of the counter. He eyed her suspiciously. “What else do you remember about it?”

From over the counter Kyungsoo could see her body still for a moment, but before she spoke Jongin walked in, his gaze flicking between the two of them. “What’s going on?”

Yongsun seemed to relax in Jongin’s presence. “We were just talking about that bath bomb I got Kyungsoo.” She sent him a smug grin. “The _pink_ one.”

“Ah.” Jongin faltered for a moment, his phone clattering to the floor. He swore as he bent to pick it up. “Yeah, that was nice of you.” He approached Kyungsoo, wrapping a hand most of the way around his upper arm. It used to fit all the way around. Kyungsoo supposed he wasn’t imagining his thickening arms after all. “I need to borrow him for a little while.”

The glare Yongsun sent Jongin was nothing short of scalding. “I just got to see him again. I was going to make him food.”

“Another time.” Jongin dragged Kyungsoo out of his chair, ignoring Yongsun’s indignant calls after them. They wove through the house until they reached the familiar door of a rarely used office, Jongin pulling it open and beckoning Kyungsoo to follow. It swung shut on its own behind them with a soft _whoosh_.

“Should I be worried?” Kyungsoo asked, unnerved by Jongin’s off behavior. A held-up finger shushed him, Jongin staring down at the phone in his hand as his thumb tapped out a series of numbers onto the screen. He finished by tapping a green circle, and seconds later the dial tone of a call waiting to be answered rang softly from the phones speaker. Jongin held the device out in the space between them. “It’s for you.”

After giving Jongin a wary squint of his eyes, Kyungsoo accepted the phone, pressing it to his ear and listening to it ring. He counted them, unsure of who he was calling and if they would even pick up. It rand six times before it was interrupted, a slight shuffling coming from the other end.

“Hello?” Kyungsoo’s heart pounded at the voice, his legs giving out and sinking him to the floor. His free hand came up to clutch the phone tightly, as if it were to be ripped away from him at any moment. “Hello?”

“Jongdae.” Kyungsoo’s voice was uneven, the rough sound that usually accompanied the beginning of tears. This was no exception.

“Kyungsoo?” Jongdae’s voice cracked. “Oh my god, where are you? Are you okay? Why haven’t you called me? Do you even realize what you put me through? Kyungsoo? Are you there? Please say something.”

“I’m okay. Fuck, I’m okay.” He didn’t want Jongin to see him like this; sniffling, shaking on the floor, but it was far too late to try and stop himself. “I’m so sorry, I,” he looked up at Jongin, “didn’t have access to a phone.” He could hear Jongdae crying, and it drew a sob from his own body. 

“I,” Sniffles were scattered throughout Jongdae’s words, “thought you were dead.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“You go to check on Jongin, and then you just disappear? Then I hear about a building blackout and dead bodies found in an apartment? What else could I think?” Kyungsoo felt his heart sinking with every one of Jongdae’s words. He hadn’t even realized how hard it must have been. He hadn’t been able to afford the luxury of thinking about other people, only himself. “What was I supposed to do? What could I have done?”

“Nothing, Jongdae. This isn’t your fault. Please just listen to me.” Kyungsoo could feel what little composure he still retained cracking. He didn’t want to break down, not in front of Jongin. The man was standing silently at the door, giving Kyungsoo space but watching his every move.

“Kyungsoo, please come back. Please.”

The words dissolved any chance of remaining calm. Trembles snaked through Kyungsoo’s body, his chest heaving, throat burning. “I can’t.” His voice was barely a whisper. “I want to, Jongdae, but I can’t. I- I’m keeping you safe. I have to stay here.”

“I don’t give a fuck about my safety!” Kyungsoo winced at the shout. His head was ringing, the pounding of his ears in time with his erratic heart. “I want you! I want you to be safe.” Jongdae’s voice gave out, the only sound from the phone a muffled crying.

“I’m safe.” Not really, but Kyungsoo didn’t want to get into his situation. Not like this. “I’m okay, really. I have to do something, and it’s to keep both of us safe.”

The phone quieted a little. The sniffles remained. “Who are you going to kill?”

He knew Kyungsoo too well. It would be endearing if the circumstances were different. “The man who put a hit on Jongin.” There was no point in lying.

“Fuck, Kyungsoo, what have you gotten yourself into? Asshole. You’re so fucking stupid.” A soft smile found its way onto Kyungsoo’s face, glad that Jongdae was beginning to sound more like himself. A pause. “Can I- is there anything I can do to help?”

“No.” The word came out a bit firmer than intended, but Kyungsoo couldn’t bring himself to care. “You’re staying out of this. Right now, he doesn’t even know who you are, and I want to keep it that way. Please just trust me. If I am successful in killing him,” he looked up at Jongin, daring him to say otherwise, “I’ll contact you.” The man nodded, lessening the weight pressing down on Kyungsoo’s chest.

Jongdae was silent for a few moments, and Kyungsoo could nearly hear him thinking. He must have realized he had no other option, because a sigh buzzed through the phone. “Be careful, okay? I’ll be waiting. If I don’t hear from you within a couple months I’m going to call the FBI.”

“Idiot. Get arrested, then.”

“I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“You set up the murders of dozens of people, Jongdae. Did you forget about that?”

The phone said nothing for a few seconds, and then a few seconds more. Finally, a deflated “maybe” that brought a smile to Kyungsoo’s face.

“Stay safe. After this is all over,” Kyungsoo’s eyes were fierce when they locked with Jongin’s, ignoring the frown he was sent. “I promise I’ll come find you. Even if it kills me.”

“I’ll be waiting. Even if it kills us both.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in one sitting while feeling very soft. It's not a very plot heavy chapter, and I consider it to be... easily digestible?? TBH I really wanted both the bath scene and the Jongdae seen somewhere in the near future, so I just put them together ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ And it kinda fits nicely with what's to come.  
> And without giving anything away, I'm just telling you all to appreciate this chapter. The next few aren't going to be as soft. They aren't going to be soft at all.


	9. You again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM ALIVE!  
> Okay a lot of stuff has been happening in my life recently and most of it is bad so I haven't really been writing as much because I have been sad and stressed. At the beginning of February I had a bunch of assignments and in the middle of February I went home for reading break. So. That was my half assed attempt at explaining why this took a long ass time, and I'm truly sorry and grateful for those of you who haven't passively told me to go fuck myself yet ♥
> 
> Also if you ever get annoyed please come yell at me on twitter to hurry up I won't be offended at all it would actually be nice.
> 
> Also I figured that if Shakespeare can make up words, so can I.

Jongin called on Kyungsoo more often than either of them thought he needed to. They found themselves together whether it be grocery shopping or murder, sometimes even on the same day. The change in frequency, not to mention the mundanity of the tasks Jongin had him doing, was not lost on Kyungsoo. He wasn’t foolish enough to think that Jongin was beginning to have a change of heart, and he certainly didn’t think the man would go as far as to tease him with opportunities to escape. There had to be something, and the thought crawled under Kyungsoo skin, unsettling and refusing to go away.

“Why are you doing this?” The question was asked one night on their way back from an arms deal; Kyungsoo could hear the metal clank of magazines and silencers rattling around in the trunk as they turned through now familiar roads.

“Hm? Doing what?” Jongin had not been paying attention, which wasn’t surprising to Kyungsoo considering the man lately had seemed distracted, more so than usual. 

“Bringing me places. Not just when you need me as a body guard, but just _out_.” Kyungsoo narrowed his eyes at the half assed shrug he got as response, folding his arms across his body as a silent form of protest. Jongin looked him over, sighing at the obvious reluctance to let the topic go.

“I figured you would go crazy by yourself, and I need you very much sane.” The words were sweet, so obviously false that Kyungsoo wondered if Jongin truly thought they would be believed. A raised eyebrow prompted Jongin to continue, eyebrows twitching in annoyance. He brought up a hand to run through his hair, looking out the window rather than meeting Kyungsoo’s gaze. “We’re going out tomorrow.”

It shouldn’t have been different. Kyungsoo had heard those words many times over, had notes with the words left on his bed, had maids announce them when Jongin was out. _We’re going out tomorrow._ Yet somehow, Kyungsoo could sense that they were different this time. Maybe it was the way Jongin refused to look at him, maybe it was this unsettling calm that he had been allowed in the few days that had lead up to this moment. There was a promise behind the words; a roiling, dangerous promise that was just barely contained by their casual façade. And Kyungsoo couldn’t help but wonder who it was they were going to kill, if Jongin shied away from the subject so meekly. That could be the only option, could it not? Why else would he have said the words as if they were a curse? Why else did Jongin not speak for the rest of the ride home, the only company in the silence the ever-present rattle of ammunition in the trunk? There would be no sleep tonight.

~ ~ ~

Kyungsoo felt nauseous. He always did after spending an extended amount of time in a car. He had, as usual, been woken up early in the morning, his half-conscious body man handled into the back of the car, barely processing the food that was shoved into his hands before the door slammed shut. He had eaten the food, something greasy and store-bought no doubt, then fallen back asleep, only waking once the sun had long passed its summit in the sky.

They stopped, at last, at a large but unkempt house. The grass was overgrown, merciless days of weathering causing it to yellow and wilt. A window was smashed, though the lack of glass shreds around it made Kyungsoo think the wound old. The house was the ghost of a great giant, once imposing but now nothing more than a husk. 

“Quaint,” Kyungsoo retorted, ignoring the shivers that crept up his back in unease. It reminded him of the barn that Jongin had first taken him to, and he wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. “What are we doing here?”

“Business.” Jongin began toward the house, feet crunching over fallen twigs and unswept gravel.

“You should tell me what we’re doing.” Kyungsoo reached out, fisting his hand in Jongin’s jacket and tugging them both to a halt. “Seriously, Jongin. This whole mysterious outing shit isn’t working for me. If I’m supposed to be of any use, then I have to know what to expect.” He paused, letting the words infuse into the air between them. For a moment, Kyungsoo thought the only reply he would get was a raised eyebrow, but then Jongin sighed, turning towards Kyungsoo and brushing his hand away.

“An anonymous source contacted my men, who passed on the news to me that this place is Yi Fan’s current hide out. I thought we’d drop by and see for ourselves.”

Kyungsoo scoffed. “You don’t think it’s a setup?”

“Oh, I _know_ it’s a setup.” A wicked smile crept across Jongin’s face as he spoke, its aura blending seamlessly with the haunt that was the house behind him. “I’m not a fucking idiot. I sent a group of men to… disinfect the area first.”

“Did they find anything? Any _one_?”

Another grin. Jongin turned, nearly skipping the rest of the way to the house. The unease stewing in Kyungsoo grew, a familiar clench taking hold of his ribs. He didn’t want to witness whatever Jongin had in mind for the poor soul that was on the other side of the door. On the occasions that Jongin didn’t invite Kyungsoo out with him, he more often than not came back covered in blood, disposing of his clothes and not speaking for the rest of the night. Kyungsoo had, one time, accidentally stumbled upon a briefcase containing a multitude of metal instruments; scalpels and hammers and things Kyungsoo couldn’t even name. They smelled of chemicals, the way a hospital smells on its sickest floor. He had put the briefcase back on the table he had found it, thankful that Jongin hadn’t seen him find it. Even so, the jumpiness that remained with Kyungsoo for the rest of the day did not go unnoticed, and he could tell Jongin was on the verge of questioning him about it. A quick excuse that he felt sick let Kyungsoo be excused for the night, grumbling stomach be damned, and he had spent nearly an hour in the shower, trying to scrub off the smell of those chemicals from his body, and the sight of glinting metal from his mind.

The door swung open effortlessly when Jongin pushed it, though its hinges squeaked horridly. The lights didn’t turn on when Kyungsoo flicked the switch, but he had expected as much. Jongin’s footsteps were loud on the hardwood, confidence dripping from his stride as he stalked through the eerily quiet main floor with a familiarity that made Kyungsoo wonder if he had been there before. He stopped in front of a door, suddenly enough that Kyungsoo bumped into him softly. His fingers brushed down the door almost sensually, circling the brass knob for a moment before twisting it.

“This, my dear Kyungsoo,” he crooned, pushing the door opened as he spoke, “is why you don’t fuck w-”

His pause was deathly. Kyungsoo pushed himself onto his toes, steadying himself with his hands on Jongin’s shoulders. His eyes flicked between the shadows, and as they adjusted to the new level of darkness the urge to vomit washed over his body like a wave. Corpses littered the floor, blood seeping from them into pools of black around their unmoving forms. Kyungsoo had seen dead bodies before. He had had blood on his hands, felt limbs go limp and watched eyes dim to a dull, empty surface. This was different. This was a massacre. Limbs lay detached from their owners, skulls smashed open and emptied out onto the ground. Kyungsoo could see into more than open chest cavity, torn open and gaping. He could almost hear their screams, their wails of agony trapped into a forever echo between the tainted walls. 

“Are they yours?” Kyungsoo knew the answer before the question even left his lips. He felt it in the way Jongin tensed beneath his fingers, hear it in the click of a gun behind him, and in the voice that was animalistic as it growled,  
“Don’t fucking move if you want to live.”

Kyungsoo’s fingers dug into Jongin’s shoulders, swallowing the fear that had so quickly clogged is throat. He inclined his head forward ever so slightly, until his lips brushed Jongin’s ear. His mouth formed words from his breath, a single word, a single syllable.

“Run.”

What he didn’t expect was for Jongin to shake his head at the word, obeying the disembodied voice as if he quite literally didn’t have a human body shield between him and the threat. Kyungsoo offered one more squeeze to his shoulder before raising his hands into the ear, stepping away slightly. He could hear the footsteps behind him, startled when a hand ran through his hair before clenching around the locks tightly, something wet dripping down his neck a few moments after the contact. A gun pressed against his spine, cold, solid, daring Kyungsoo to try anything. The hand in his hair tugged slightly, pulling him further back from the room.

“Ooh, Jongin.” The man’s lips brushed against Kyungsoo’s ear as he spoke. His breath smelled of blood. The wet feeling on Kyungsoo’s neck spread down his back, sticking his shirt to his skin. “It has been a while, hasn’t it? Is this your new boy toy? Pretty little thing, though I’m hurt you replaced me so quickly.”

“Tao.” Jongin’s voice was rough, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. The single word chilled the room. It held what seemed like years of malice, of hatred and disgust stemming from an unknown place. Kyungsoo didn’t like the sound of it, even though he was usually used to the seemingly never-ending stream of enmitious people wanting Jongin dead. “If Yi Fan well? There’s a nasty cold going around, pity if any of you caught it.”

“Weller than you, I’m sure.” There was something unsettling in Tao’s voice. Something off, some sort of _wrongness_ that had every cell in Kyungsoo’s body screaming for him to get away.

“He sent you here?” Jongin’s voice, damn it all, was calm, and Kyungsoo wasn’t sure if he should be impressed or terrified at his apparent apathy. 

“Obviously.”

There was tension in Jongin’s body, pulled taught beneath his clothes, inching up his neck. The muscles under his shirt coiled and flexed as he rolled his shoulders. Kyungsoo couldn’t stand it. He could kill Tao. He imagined it: slamming his head back against the man’s face, spinning around and grabbing his wrist. He imagined twisting his arm until it snapped, pressing his hands against his windpipe in a way that had become all too familiar over the years. He could do it. Easily. But there was a chance, a tiny, unignorably possible chance that at this range any bullet would go straight through him and into Jongin. And it was this tiny chance that gave him pause, that spun around his mind without possibility of domestication. 

And Jongin was doing nothing. Nothing. He had a chance of taking Tao down, at the price of Kyungsoo’s life, yes, but it still seemed a better option than the nothing. “He sent you here to kill me, I presume?”

At the question, Tao laughed; a manic, harsh sound devoid of any humor. “He didn’t even know if you’d come. No, no, not you. We knew someone would come, but we couldn’t know if it would be you, could we? He should have known, like I did, that you are never one for resisting temptation. That’s why you have this little kitten here, isn’t it?” Tao pressed his face to Kyungsoo’s neck, inhaling deeply before licking a stripe across his jawline.

“He has nothing to do with this.” Kyungsoo imagined the snarl on Jongin’s face, the darkness that brewed behind his eyes. It made him shudder. Funny, how someone could hold a gun against his spine it was still Jongin, always Jongin, that Kyungsoo feared the most. “I saw what you did to my men. You’ve had your fill. If Yi Fan didn’t send you here to kill me then let me, us, go. You know as well as I do that that’s an option.”

There was a puff of air at Kyungsoo’s neck as Tao scoffed, his hands adjusting their grip in his hair. “He didn’t tell me to _kill_ anyone.” The gun slid across Kyungsoo’s shoulder blade, tapping lightly against his ear. “He wanted hostages, rats, someone to play with.” The last suggestion was a whisper, a hush of air against Kyungsoo’s ear. “But your toys didn’t want to play nice. I had to hurt them. I was just… too rough. But it's okay. I’m allowed to hurt. Just like I’m going to hurt you.”

Jongin’s hands trembled by his side, the motion slight enough that Kyungsoo had wondered if he imagined it, though if he hadn’t he knew it was likely less from fear are more from suppressing the rage boiling inches below the surface. “So you are going to kill me? We both know you couldn’t. Not me.”

Kyungsoo could almost feel the wicked smile that cut across Tao’s face as he spoke. “No, not kill. This is going to hurt more than any way I’d kill you could.”

The gun connected with Kyungsoo’s temple, the shockwave rippling through his body and ceasing all function of his limbs. He crumpled to the ground, feeling warmth gush from his head as a muffled bang broke through the brackish fog that seeped across his consciousness. His hand sat useless on his leg, despite his silent please for it to respond to the weakening signals from his brain. The answer was no more than a twitch of his fingers. Boots placed themselves in front of his face, old blood flaking off onto the carpet with every move.

“Kitten,” Tao’s voice crooned from above him. Something – a hand? – brushed the blood-matted hair from his face. “You’re bleeding.”

“ _Ungh_.” That wasn’t quite was Kyungsoo had meant to say. What had he meant? Likely something along the lines of ‘fuck you’ or a death threat, certainly not ‘ _ungh_ ’.

“Don’t speak.” Tao sounded far away, each second putting more and more space between them. Cotton clogged Kyungsoo’s ears, his mouth, blocking him off from the world and slowly piling up, suffocating him. “Say bye-bye to Jongin, pet. At least for now. Yi Fan is going to be so pleased to finally meet you.”


	10. Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am posting this so soon because I felt bad about taking so long to post the previous chapter lmao. The way its looking, I think I have about 2-4 more chapters in this fic, and I'm super excited to start my new one. Speaking of which, I'm holding a twitter poll (https://twitter.com/etherimaginary/status/836738958532861952) for you guys to chose what it's about!! Go vote, there is 4 days left!!)

As it was, Kyungsoo was getting pretty sick and tired of waking up in unknown locations tied to chairs in clothes that were not his own. In fact, a far greater portion of him was irritated rather than afraid, and he didn’t struggle against his restraints but rather waited silently, a false serenity masking the irritation beneath. He recounted the events that had brought him to such a position: the house, the bodies, Tao. Jongin. Kyungsoo had heard the sound of the gun go off, he was sure of it, but Tao had said that he wouldn’t kill Jongin. Had it been an accident? Was it a crippling but non-fatal shot so they could get away? Was it a blank? The many questions and their respective lack of answers pounded in Kyungsoo’s head. He wanted an explanation.

He didn’t have to wait long. It was only a few minutes after his awakening that the door swung open, revealing a tall, imposing man. His face was stone, murderous, matching the harsh lines of his body. The smile on his face lacked any kindness; it was predatory, brutally confident. It was the same smile Kyungsoo had worn moments before a kill.

“You’re awake.” And fuck, if that man’s voice didn’t match his image. The two words alone sent a shiver down Kyungsoo’s spine.

“Obviously. Nice timing.” Kyungsoo bit out the words with as much ferocity that his still swimming brain could muster. The man gestured to a corner of the room, and Kyungsoo followed his gaze to see a small, blinking camera fixed to the ceiling.

“I was watching. It truly is a pleasure to finally meet you, Kyungsoo, though you are a bit smaller than I imagined. I could just put you in my pocket.” Entering the room and shutting the door behind him, the man kept his gaze on Kyungsoo. He dragged a chair from where it was sat snugly against a wall to in front of Kyungsoo, sinking down and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his legs. “I am Yi Fan.”

“I already knew that.” Kyungsoo mimicked the smile that still dominated Yi Fan’s face. He was not a stranger to this game. “Who else would greet me in such an unnecessary melodramatic way? You’re smaller than I imagined as well. Also, kind of rude for your pet to knock me unconscious like that. I think you gave me brain damage.”

Yi Fan snorted, the cursed smile falling from his face. Good. It unnerved Kyungsoo. “Fine. I’m not here to banter with you. In fact, this can all be over rather quickly, if you play nice.”

“I was never one for playing nice,” Kyungsoo could hear his heartbeat in his ears as he spoke, see it pulsing against the edges of his vision, “but by all means go ahead. There is a first for everything.”

The answer seemed to surprise Yi Fan, though it was annoyingly hard to tell. His face held next to no emotion, only a raised eyebrow giving his potential inner feelings away. “Very well. I’ll make it easy for you. I know Jongin plans to attack me, and frankly, I don’t blame him. I plan on killing him as well, though I presume you already knew that. We simply cannot co-exist. All I need is for you to tell me three things. Think you could do that?”

Kyungsoo shrugged with nonchalance, the act considerably harder since his hands were bound behind him. “Shoot.”

Again, Kyungsoo’s complacency seemed surprising to Yi Fan, who this time raised both eyebrows. Kyungsoo supposed it would be unexpected; usual hostages had a ‘I’ll die before telling you anything’ attitude, albeit one that dissolved the moment their first layer of skin was peeled off. It was a waste of time for everyone involved, and frankly, Kyungsoo very much liked his skin where it was currently.

“Where is Jongin’s headquarters, when and where does he plan on attacking me, and how many men does he have?”

There was a pause between them, Kyungsoo calculating the many outcomes of this situation, and then he started to laughing, throwing his head back as his jubilation echoed off the walls. “First of all, that’s four things, not three. Second, I think you have the wrong guy. I don’t know _shit_. I’m Jongin’s bodyguard, not his fucking _diary_.” It was almost the truth, close enough that Kyungsoo thought he could get away with the lies woven in. “Jesus, man, do you honestly think he goes around spouting his plans to everyone?”

Yi Fan’s eyes narrowed at the words, his eyebrows inching together, and Kyungsoo had to force himself to keep smiling, begging the fear within him to stay down. “You’ve been to his house though.”

“Yeah,” Kyungsoo pushed a series of fake as hell giggles through his lips, “but he blindfolds me when we come and go.” At least, that was the way it was at the beginning. The practice ebbed with time, Jongin either getting lazy or simply not caring if he knew where the house was. After all, Kyungsoo had made it clear that he wouldn’t dare to act against him, not when Jongdae’s life was on the line. “To Jongin, I’m nothing except a human shield when death comes knocking. I’m nobody.” 

The words tasted sour in Kyungsoo’s mouth. Saying them out loud, hearing them in his own voice, twisted in his chest. Feelings that Kyungsoo had long suppressed cried out against the words, or at least the truth that Kyungsoo’s spoke them with. He really was nobody to Jongin, wasn’t he? He had been since the beginning. A guard, a shield, something to use to his advantage and dispose of when the time called for it. It was Kyungsoo’s own fault for falling into the comfort and familiarity that time bred, the false sense of something more that grew as Jongin began to in turn get used to him as well. He should have kept his distance. He shouldn’t have gotten so used to being called on, even if the tasks were mundane and domestic. It was the same emotional vulnerability that had gotten him into this mess in the first place; Jongin once again fooling him into thinking he was something that he was not. It was pathetic. It was weak. It was everything that Kyungsoo despised, yet everything that Jongin turned him into.

So lost in his own internal turmoil, Kyungsoo didn’t notice the smile returning to Yi Fan’s face until the man chuckled, the sound deep and lavishly venomous. “Do you know how long you’ve been unconscious?” He paused waiting for Kyungsoo to guess, but at his prolonged silence continued, a certain smugness in his voice. “Almost two days. Two fucking days. And do you know what’s happened in that time?” Another pause, the grin on his face growing both in size and wickedness. “We’ve been contacted by a certain someone demanding we return you in exchange for whatever we want.”

If it were possible for a heart to stop completely and pound impossibly fast simultaneously, Kyungsoo was sure he was experiencing it. “Bullshit.” He couldn’t help but keep the uncertainty from his voice, the slight tremble from his body. It was a lie. It had to be.

“The way I see it, there are two options.” Kyungsoo wanted to cut the grin right out of Yi Fan’s face. Maybe his bindings were a blessing in disguise, keeping him from doing anything that would surely get him killed. “Either you know something, or you aren’t just nobody. Which is it?”

“Neither. There’s a third option.” Yi Fan tilted his head, a silent provocation to continue, and if Kyungsoo had to control his emotions with sarcasm then god dammit he would. “I’m just a really fucking good bodyguard.”

“Is it a habit of yours to make people want to strangle you, or is it just with me?” Yi Fan did, in fact, look like he was close to murdering Kyungsoo, but they both knew he wouldn’t. Not when Kyungsoo had suddenly become useful. The question, however, was rhetorical, and at Kyungsoo’s lack of answer Yi Fan continued. “Tell me, do you know why Jongin and I want to kill each other?”

Kyungsoo perked up the question. It was something he could answer safely, confidently. “Yes, he told me. You two were rivals, and often fought a lot.” Yi Fan nodded, so Kyungsoo continued. “Then you ambushed him when he was trying to close a deal and killed a bunch of his men, and he killed your brother. You want vengeance, and he just wants you out of the way so he can operate without having to worry about your gremlins hiding around every corner.”

“Is that what he told you?” The question silenced Kyungsoo, because it was, in fact, what Jongin had told him, and until now he had no reason to suspect it to be anything but the truth. “Typical. Do you want to know the full story?” More silence, because Kyungsoo _did_ want to know but he had enough pride not to say. “Jongin and I were rivals, yes, but it didn’t bother me. He had more men, did more deals, and I was just happy to mind my own business and operate where he didn’t. But he got greedy. He hated the idea of someone else gaining power, even if it was in areas that he didn’t care about. I soon learned that he planned to make a deal with an outside group to eradicate me and my men and move into our position under Jongin’s rule. Naturally, I had to stop it. So yes, I killed his men, and yes, he killed my brother. But while I am indeed vengeful, he is not the only one who would kill out of necessity. There is a target painted on both of our backs. Even if I proposed a treaty, he would not hesitate to finish what he started once I started gaining power again.”

“That’s not true.” Kyungsoo’s voice was hollow, uncertainty growing within him. Jongin had lied to him before. He could have again. But Jongin gained nothing from lying; he had Kyungsoo on his side either way.

“Why would I lie?” Each word was a punch in the stomach. “His own men turn against him once they see what evil he is truly capable of.”

“You mean Tao.”

“Yes, Tao. He used to be Jongin’s bodyguard, before I got my hands on him. He belongs to me now. I trained him to be stronger, broke him down and built him back up until he reached his full potential. Tao was my protégé. He started out weak, sloppy, a sad excuse for a man, but now,” there was a sick fondness in Yi Fan’s descriptions, a nauseating admiration akin to the way that cats dropped dead mice and bird on their owner’s laps. “Now, he is unstoppable.”

Kyungsoo knew that wasn’t quite true. Tao couldn’t kill Jongin. The man had said so himself. Whether it be a glitch in his programming or an inerasable bond of loyalty deep within him, Tao could not bring himself to murder the man he once served. Was it affection, Kyungsoo wondered, that had forged such a bond, or had he too been threatened with the death of a friend, loved one, should he act against Jongin’s command?

“What did you _do_ to him?” Kyungsoo hissed, disgust lacing his voice and sticking in his throat. It only deepened with the sick glint in Yi Fan’s eyes, and he recoiled at the feeling of a hand patting his head.

“What I would have done to you, if given the chance. You are already stronger than Tao was. I could have made you perfect, if I had the time. But Jongin is impatient. Make no mistake, Kyungsoo. He has used you just as much as I would if not more; the only difference between us is that I am more honest about it. He wants you back, and I can see why. You are special.”

Kyungsoo felt dirty. Used. Both by Jongin, and now by Yi Fan. He was helplessly confused, not wanting to believe Yi Fan but seeing no reason not to. His story made sense, and Jongin had lied to Kyungsoo in the past. There was still something off, however: something wrong, something that Kyungsoo knew was being withheld. But as Yi Fan rose from his chair, Kyungsoo knew he would not get to find out what that was. He circled behind, and soon Kyungsoo felt the pressure on his wrists fall away.

“Tao has been taking care of your sanitary needs for the past two days, but since you are now awake, there is no reason you can’t do it yourself. The bathroom is down the hall, first door on the left. I encourage you to shower, and then make your way to the dining room. I’m sure you are hungry.”

With that, Yi Fan turned, leaving the room with much less grandeur than he came in. It made Kyungsoo truly realize his position. The man wasn’t scared of him, enough so that he felt comfortable turning his back to him, and he had no right to be. Kyungsoo was in a foreign space, weak and disoriented. There was a camera in the room, likely more in the halls, and if Jongin’s house was anything to go by, innumerable guards crawling through the house. There was nothing he could do to Yi Fan without it being a death sentence.

Repressing the discomfort that had formed from the realization that Tao had seen him naked, Kyungsoo crept out into the hall after he was certain Yi Fan was out of sight. The room he had been in was near the end of a hall, the bathroom easy enough to find. He closed himself in it, leaning heavily against the counter and allowing only a few tears to flow from his eyes. There was an uncomfortable feeling within him, something unsettled, disrupted. What he wanted to believe and what made the most sense to believe clashed in his brain, and he spent the good part of half an hour simply staring at his reflection. There was a bruise where the gun had connected with his head, but it wasn’t as swollen as he expected, likely having gone down in the two days that he was unconscious. He didn’t look, or feel, particularly gross, and he attributed that to the fact that, as Yi Fan had put it, he had his sanitary needs taken care of. Ugh.

Kyungsoo stripped the unfamiliar clothes from his body, his heart sinking as his eyes dragged over what lay underneath. Messy writing was scrawled across his skin, inching across his thighs, tumbling down his chest, mottling everywhere that had been covered by his clothes. They were written in marker, most in poor grammar and some so sloppily done that he couldn’t even read what they said, but the ones he could swelled in his chest, thick and heavy, until he was gasping for breath.

_dont believe any of the words_  
_its a lie_  
_he needs you_  
_Im sorry_  
_they are lies_


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finals season!!! I hope you all are surviving I know I'm not!  
> This fic has 1-2 chapters left!  
> For my next one I need to know;  
> Who from bts do you ship with got7 members?  
> and  
> Which would you prefer; Taekook, Jikook, or Vmin?  
> YOUR INPUT MATTERS I WILL PLOT ACCORDINGLY!!! DONT LET ME FLOP!

Kyungsoo read the words over and over again. Tao was the only person who had seen him naked, the only person who had had access to the skin under his clothes. Did he write it? Kyungsoo couldn’t think of anyone else that could, let alone would. But then, why would he? Kyungsoo had more questions than answers, and it frustrated him. Thinking about it only made it worse, so he decided to try and ignore the relentless questions in his mind, turning on the shower and letting the water wash away the ink from his skin.

There was only a small towel in the bathroom, with which Kyungsoo dried his body the best he could and left his hair to air dry. He put back on the clothes he had already been wearing, which was not ideal but he couldn’t do anything about it, and exited into the hall, walking in the vague direction that he thought would be towards the dining area. It didn’t take long; Yi Fan’s house was, surprisingly, smaller than Jongin’s, and its halls laid out in a much simpler manner. The guards in the house didn’t give him a second glance as he passed, sessile as the stared directly ahead. Kyungsoo found it curious, the differences between the two men when he had thought of Yi Fan to be so similar to Jongin. It, once again, reminded just how out of his element he was; Yi Fan was hard to read as it was, and Kyungsoo realized that it was too risky to make assumptions of the man based on what he knew of Jongin.

The dining hall was, like the rest of the house, modest. A large table dominated most of the space, at which Yi Fan and another man who Kyungsoo didn’t know sat. Tao stood behind them in the corner, face blank with what appeared to be boredom. Kyungsoo could feel himself shaking at the mere sight of him; this was the man that had brought him here. This was the man that had potentially seriously injured Jongin. But he was also the man that had written on Kyungsoo’s body, as far as he could tell, the man who warned him against Yi Fan in the only way he knew how.

“Oh, Kyungsoo.” It was Tao that regarded him first, his eyes sweeping over his body, resting on his still wet hair with a look of concern. Tao looked briefly down at Yi Fan, but returned his gaze just as quickly, the undertones of urgency unable to be kept from his voice. “Did you bathe yourself?”

With the question dissipated any doubts that Kyungsoo had had on whether or not Tao had been the one to write the words. He would not have looked so damn _terrified_ had he not, and Kyungsoo could sympathize with how he felt. Yi Fan was not someone he would want to betray either. 

“Yes, I figured since I am conscious now it would be overkill to have someone else do it for me.” His gaze didn’t waver from where it was locked with Tao’s, and he could see the relief wash over the man’s body, which softened slightly at the reassurance. 

“I agree.” Was all the reply he got, Tao slipping once again into the hazy look he had donned prior. 

At Yi Fan’s gesture, Kyungsoo sat, and some sort of stew was placed in front of him. It occurred to him just how hungry he was, and he pushed aside any concerns for poison in favour of digging into the meal. It angered Kyungsoo just how much he enjoyed the soup. It was rich and hearty, innumerable spices contrasted by some mysterious nutty flavor. What he had initially thought were carrots were actually sweet potato, complimenting the chick peas and peppers in a way that Kyungsoo didn’t know they would. If his pride allowed it, he would have asked for the recipe, but Kyungsoo would have sooner poisoned the stew himself than subject himself to such domestic inferiority.

Yi Fan let him eat for a few minutes in peace, murmuring quietly with the other man at the table, but once the stew was gone he turned to Kyungsoo, folding his hands on the table in front of him. “Have you reconsidered answering my questions?”

“I told you.” Kyungsoo leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I don’t know shit.”

“You’re useful to us either way.” It was the unknown man that spoke, his voice so much softer than Yi Fan’s, so much kinder. Kyungsoo didn’t buy it. “Whether you tell us information, or you resign on just being bate. But it really would help if you told us all that you _do_ know.” Kyungsoo snorted at this, looking around the room in the same aura of boredom that Tao was still entranced by. There was a sigh, too gentle to be Yi Fan, and then the man continued, a thread of hope and so many other vile things laced in his words. “We can make you a deal. If you tell us all that you can, we’ll let you go. After we take care of Jongin, that is.”

The way he spoke of Jongin, of what they would do to Jongin, irritated Kyungsoo more than Yi Fan’s directness had. There were no euphemisms available that would soften the meaning behind the words, no way of indirectly saying what they truly meant. Kyungsoo was bait. That much was obvious. He was to be used as a method of luring Jongin in, a distraction until one of Yi Fan’s men or Yi Fan himself could finish him off. The thought alone was nauseating, sticking in Kyungsoo’s throat as a passive sort of panic.

“You weren’t already planning on letting me go?” The question was directed not at the stranger but at Yi Fan, with a falsely incredulous voice and a raised eyebrow.

The voice that replied was sharp, vicious. “You are not that naïve.”

“Right.” Kyungsoo sent him a squishy smile. “I forgot; I’m _special_.”

There were certain understandings that everyone at the table shared without having to say a word. Yi Fan really wasn’t going to let Kyungsoo go, whether it be killing him after or reclaiming him to mold into some sick pet, a Tao 2.0 to use as he saw fit. But he wasn’t the only one speaking in the silent tongue. They knew that Kyungsoo was dangerous, and they knew that he would sooner die than return to Yi Fan’s grasp. He was bait, yes, but he was also a liability, and one that couldn’t be avoided. There was no telling what he would do once the situation inevitably escalated, but it was a universally accepted fact that it was not going to be good.

“Now, I’m going to take a venture and guess that this meeting with Jongin is happening soon.” At the silence that encapsulated the table, Kyungsoo smiled. “You two are similar that way. Always telling me things last minute. What if I had plans? I’d have to reschedule.” He tutted, partly for emphasis and partly because it made annoyance cross YI Fan’s face in a way that amused him, and tilted his head, asking the question of ‘when?’ without having to say a word.

“Just be ready.” With that, Yi Fan rose from the table, turning to exit the room without so much as another glance at Kyungsoo.

“I am ready.”

“Then stay ready.” The words said all that Kyungsoo needed to know. He glanced around the room, finding that Tao was looking directly at him with an odd sense of worry twisting his features. It was soon, then, Kyungsoo concluded. Sooner than he had originally thought.

~ ~ ~ 

The sooner was two days later, when Kyungsoo found himself in an ever so familiar scene; hands shaking him awake in the groggy hours of the morning, though they didn’t provide him with food like that one’s at Jongin’s house did. He dressed, still half asleep. He would be lying if he said that the past two nights were anything but torturous, thoughts swirling in his mind ramped enough that any notion of sleep was swept up in the storm and forgotten.

A knock on his door surfaced his mind from the sleep-groggy haze, and he mumbled out a ‘come in’ before collapsing into the chair near the door, beginning to tug his shoes on. Said door swung open, revealing an incredibly skittish Tao who quickly shut it behind him. Kyungsoo realized the man was holding something, and had no time to wonder what it was before it was shoved into his hands. 

“Put this on.” His voice was urgent, hushed, his eyes glancing more often than necessary towards the door as if he expected someone to come bursting in at any second. Kyungsoo looked down at the object in his hands, making it out to be a bullet-proof vest. He looked up at Tao in surprise, eyebrows raised in question. “If you get caught with it, say you stole it off a guard. Hurry.” He turned to leave, his steps cat-like in their silence.

“Why?” The question made him pause. Kyungsoo looked form the vest back up to Tao, grateful but not understanding. “Why are you doing this? Why do you care?”

There was silence, long enough that Kyungsoo thought he wouldn’t get an answer. Then Tao sighed, leaning against the door as if his body had suddenly become too heavy for his bones. “For the same reason that I can’t kill Jongin.” Another pause. “I’m pretty fucked up. Yi Fan made me like this. The things I’ve done, the things I _will_ do… they disgust me. But I can’t disobey, I can’t- I just can’t. Jongin is the small part of me Yi Fan couldn’t get to. He’s the one thing that Yi Fan can’t override no matter what he does, and God I know he’s tried.” Tao rubbed at a spot on his arm, covered by his clothes. Kyungsoo didn’t even want to imagine what lay underneath. “Jongin may have given up on me, but it’s not too late for you. I just want to help you get back to him. Consider it an apology, and a goodbye.”

He offered no more words before leaving. Kyungsoo quickly stripped off his clothes, fitting the vest snugly against his skin before pulling his shirt back up over his head. It offered some level of security, but was thin enough that Kyungsoo doubted anyone would notice he was wearing it unless they were specifically looking. A barked order called him from the room, and he made his way down through the now familiar hallways out into the morning sun. Kyungsoo shivered in his meager attire, his breath ghosting out in front of him and curling into translucent wisps of fog. 

There was an unnerving number of cars situated in Yi Fan’s driveway. Their tinted windows made it impossible to tell how many men where in each, but Kyungsoo could see them driving away even as he stepped outside, so there was no telling how many had already left. He could only hope that Jongin was expecting something of this magnitude. There would be no holding back from either end, no corners cut. Not when there was so much on the line.

“Kyungsoo.” Yi Fan’s voice came from his left. He was standing beside a car with Tao the man that had been at dinner with them. “You’re in this car. With us.”

Though he only replied with a grunt, Kyungsoo’s mind was racing at the news. He tried to imagine what would happen if Yi Fan noticed the vest he wore under his clothes, if he would be able to lie his way out of it. In the heat of the battle, or interrogation, or whatever the fuck Yi Fan had planned for Jongin, Kyungsoo doubted it would be noticed. In a secluded car, however, with just the four of them, he wasn’t so sure. He wrapped his arms tigher around his body, feigning cold, and slipped into the seat. Tao sat beside him, and the man across, leaving Yi Fan diagonal. Good.

“I don’t think I ever told you my name.” Kyungsoo looked up at the man’s words. He hated how kind he seemed; he hardly fit into the same category as Yi Fan and Jongin. Then again, Kyungsoo’s first impressions had been proven wrong in the past, so he couldn’t really be too sure. 

“I don’t want to know it.”

“Oh?” The man smirked. “Will it be easier to kill me if you don’t know my name?”

“I could kill you either way.” Kyungsoo’s eyes locked with the man’s, neither daring to break the contact. Tao shifted uneasily beside Kyungsoo. Yi Fan watched, amused. “I just don’t want to know so that when Jongin asks me who I killed, I can say I have no idea.”

“Cute.” The man sneered, and Kyungsoo could see something stir in his eyes, something that he had seen in Yi Fan’s so many times before. Maybe he was cut out for this life after all. “You still think that you are going to leave this unscathed. Let me remind you of your position, Kyungsoo. You are _nothing_ here. You are a toy, a tool of negotiation. By the end of this you’ll either be dead or back in our hands.”

The words had no effect on Kyungsoo. Curious. He briefly wondered why, since any previous mention of his foreseeable recapture would have send countless scenarios into his head on how he could kill whoever had brought it up. But now? Nothing. Maybe it was because he was tired. Maybe it was because he was just beginning to realize how feasible of a possibility it was. He would kill himself before he let Yi Fan put his hands on him, if he got the chance, but what if he never got the chance? He wouldn’t put it past Yi Fan to cripple him until things were back under control, nor would he have any doubts that the man wouldn’t hesitate to kill him if necessity called for it. Still, some stubborn, spiteful part of Kyungsoo insisted that if anyone was going to kill him, it would be Kyungsoo himself. 

“Fine, then. What’s your name?” Kyungsoo shoved the doubts to the back of his mind. He couldn’t let himself get distracted by the ‘what if’s. Not when there was so much on the line. He had to be focused. For himself, and for Jongin.

The man smiled. “Junmyeon.”

“Good. I’ll remember that.”

“Will you?”

“Yes. And when Jongin asks me who I killed, your name will be the first to cross my tongue.”


	12. Vengence and Necessity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ITS DONE!!!! I CAN'T BELIEVE ITS DONE!! IT TOOK SO LONG TO WRITE, AND WAS REALLY ONLY SUPPOSED TO BE 15K BUT ITS DONE!!!
> 
> My next piece, as some/most of you may know, is going to be bts centered with a little got7 in it. It's going to be a zombie apocalypse au, and I am going to try to write most if not all before I start posting, so expect me to be silent for the next while.
> 
> Can you believe I wrote this chapter while putting off studying for my final tomorrow? I hate myself. Anyways...
> 
> Let me know what you guys think!! Did you expect it to turn out this way?

The building itself was not the way Kyungsoo had imagined. He watched as they approached, eyeing the LAND FOR SALE sign on the edge of the property, a red SOLD stamped diagonally over the letters. As they drew closer, he could make out a few worn-down buildings, long and squat, and realized that this must have been some sort of a farm at some point. It made sense; they had driven deep into the countryside to get here, and he doubted any factory or apartment building would be situated so far from city civilization and so close to agricultural production. There were four buildings in total, two of which they drove right by. The building of choice was perhaps the second largest out of them all, though it certainly was the longest. The wood that held it up was cracked and uncared for, and one of the sliding doors at the end of the building was missing, leaving a gaping face whose mouth lead into a thick darkness. 

The car stopped a couple dozen meters from the entrance to the building. Kyungsoo could see a few of others parked further away, their lights dark and their engines silent. How long had they been there? The door beside him was opened, and Kyungsoo swung his legs out, feeling the gentle give of soft soil and decomposing grass beneath his feet. The sun had not yet risen, though the farthest edge of the sky was beginning to lighten in colour at the impending dawn, and what little light was available was offered from the moon and the headlights of Yi Fan’s car. Kyungsoo didn’t exactly enjoy the idea of walking into a creepy old barn without any way of seeing what was ahead, even if it was Jongin.  
The thought send an odd sort of electricity through him. Jongin. He would get to see him again. Kyungsoo felt his heart pounding in his chest at the very thought. It had not been long since the two were separated, but Kyungsoo very nearly ached with longing. He would have walked right into the barn himself if not for the men surrounding him, muttering quietly among themselves as Yi Fan gave orders to let the rest of his men know that he had arrived. 

“Do the lights still work in the building?” Kyungsoo picked up Junmyeon’s voice through the sea of whispers. It was not panicked, but certainly unsettled at the sight of their location, and Kyungsoo couldn’t help but wonder just how much Yi Fan had told him of what was to come. Junmyeon hummed at the response, which Kyungsoo couldn’t really hear and was thus either ‘yes, sir’ or ‘not sure’. Yi Fan, after finishing whatever he was saying to a man dressed in black and wielding an imposing looking gun, turned to Kyungsoo, gesturing for him to spin around. Seeing no choice but to obey, Kyungsoo did so, and seconds later felt the cool, unfamiliar squeeze of handcuffs around his wrists.  
At his small cry of indignance, Yi Fan tugged on them, tutting softly. “Do you actually think I’m going to let you walk around without any restraints? Fuck, you’re dense.”

Once Yi Fan’s hands drew away from him, Kyungsoo tugged on the cuffs, testing how far they allowed his hands to move. He had escaped many situations, countered many attacks, but he couldn’t remember a single instance that he had been in handcuffs. He had always been too good for that, too skilled to ever get caught. He supposed the practice would have been handy now. 

Feeling another pair of hands on him, Kyungsoo turned to see a man he didn’t recognize, though it was hard to tell as half his face was covered with a black mask. The man looked at Kyungsoo indifferently, pushing him slightly to signal that they were beginning their approach into the building. Kyungsoo nearly tripped multiple times over rocks and roots that were hidden under the sway of wilted grass but was saved by the grip on his arms, tightening each time and keeping his body upright. It was almost kind, and for a moment he wondered if he would have to kill this man. If so, he wouldn’t hesitate, but perhaps he would make it quick, if only to thank him for preventing Kyungsoo from falling on his face.

As Kyungsoo, Yi Fan, and the band of men surrounding them drew near to the door, the inside of the building began to glow, the hum of scarcely used lights fading into white noise. The light they provided was dim, but in the darkness of the morning it was bright enough to see by. Kyungsoo craned his neck, attempting to see past the men in front of him, to catch a glimpse of Jongin. It was eerily silent as they stalked through the barn, Kyungsoo making out rotten bales of hay and abandoned beams of wood leaning against the barn’s walls. Every now and then he could just barely make out the silhouette of a man, dark clothes melting into the shadows as they stood, motionless, watching them go by. Kyungsoo couldn’t help but wonder if they were Yi Fan’s or Jongin’s men. They were silent, masks covering their faces and hands clutched around weapons that Kyungsoo couldn’t make out. 

So focused on the ghost men hidden throughout the barn, Kyungsoo didn’t notice when Yi Fan stopped in front of him, coughing him to bump slightly into the man’s back. The hands behind him tugged him backwards a step in return, and Kyungsoo turned to shoot the man a glare. He stepped to the side slightly, pushing himself onto his toes to better see over Yi Fan’s shoulder. There was nothing in the space before them at first, but Yi Fan laughed, crossing his arms in front of him.

“Long time no see, Jongin.” His words echoed in the darkness, bouncing off the walls and ceiling. Kyungsoo was sure his heart had either stopped or was beating too fast for him to differentiate between individual pumps. “I almost feel like you’ve been avoiding me.”

A figure that he had not noticed at first pushed itself off of the barn wall, stepping lightly toward the center of the barn. Kyungsoo knew that figure, knew the way it walked and the way it stretched its neck to either side when it had stopped moving. Jongin. There was no mistaking him. Kyungsoo nearly cried out from the sight, involuntarily stepping forward and earning himself a sharp tug on his wrists. He didn’t like the way this barn was set up. There was nowhere to hide, nothing to shield yourself with. Any outbreak of violence here would be a massacre. 

“With good reason, I’m sure we can both agree.” Jongin’s voice filtered through Kyungsoo’s ears. He wondered if the man holding him could feel him shaking. Probably, but Kyungsoo didn’t even think to care. Jongin’s eyes scanned over the group of men in front of him, stopping when they found Kyungsoo. He made a slight face, perhaps relief, perhaps dread, perhaps something else entirely that Kyungsoo couldn’t place. “And I would have been happy to keep it that way.”

“Yet here you are.” Kyungsoo could hear the smugness in Yi Fan’s voice. He wanted to rip the smirk right off his face, press his thumbs into his eyes until he heard them pop, squeeze his hands around his throat and watch the light flicker out of his eyes. He wanted to- “Why is that? Oh, yes, I have something of yours, don’t I? Something that you want back.” Yi Fan turned to grab Kyungsoo, yanking him forward with far more force than necessary. Yi Fan held him close, one arm slinking around Kyungsoo’s shoulders. Jongin’s eyebrows inched together, his mouth twisting in a way that Kyungsoo had only seen minutes before someone was killed. “Now, we are both business men, and I don’t think you’re enough of an idiot to think that I would just let this little guy meander his way back into your hands. I know how useful he can be. Therefore, I propose a trade.”

“I have nothing to give you.”

Yi Fan smiled, head cocked to the side. “I’m not so sure.”

Kyungsoo’s eyes met Jongin’s, and he hoped he could see the silent plea within them, or at least notice the slight shake of his head that begged Jongin not to do anything stupid. His eyes drew off Kyungsoo, and he followed his gaze towards Tao, who Kyungsoo hadn’t even noticed was standing behind him. 

“What do you want then? Men? Money?” Even when speaking to Yi Fan, Jongin’s eyes were on Kyungsoo, drinking him up, swallowing him whole.

“Peace of mind.” The answer seemed to shock Jongin, whose gaze flitted off of Kyungsoo for just a moment. “Those things can be gained and regained, given away and wasted, but peace of mind? Now, that is something that cannot be bought.”

“How can I provide that to you? Are you asking me to move? To leave the country?” Yi Fan shook his head, so Jongin continued, albeit with bitterness in his voice, “Do you want me to give up all connections I have? To give up this life?”

Again, Jongin was answered with a shake of Yi Fan’s head. “Not good enough. I want you gone, and I won’t settle for anything less.”

“Gone?”

“Dead.” Kyungsoo knew the word had been coming, but it still hit him with force, pushing the air out of his lungs. He looked frantically between the two men, willing his breathing to settle, for his heart to calm so he could think straight. “How else can I be sure you won’t come back for me when I least expect it?”

Jongin didn’t answer. His eyes stayed on Kyungsoo’s face, apologies written across his features. Motion drew Kyungsoo’s eyes to Jongin’s hands, where he was fiddling with a small black object. It was somehow familiar, and Kyungsoo realized he had seen it before, held it in his hands. It was a remote, simple, inconspicuous, easy to hide. Fuck, how had Kyungsoo forgotten?

The air was thick, heavy. Each muscle in the room was tensed, each tendon pulled taught, each person waiting for the first bullet to fly. Kyungsoo thought it would be from Jongin. Jongin seemed to think it would be from Yi Fan. It was neither. It was from Tao, standing behind him, directly into Kyungsoo’s back.

The force was unlike anything he had experienced before. It was a sharp stab and a deep ache all in one, as if someone had drilled directly into his flesh and torn out whatever organs lay beneath. The pain was radiating, pulsing with every beat of his heart, spasming with every twitch of his muscles. Kyungsoo fell to his knees with a gasp, then fell forward, his face pressed against the dirt and hay. But the bullet hadn’t gone through. He was sure of it. The pain, through crippling, did not sink all the way through him, but rather lay base at the edge of his flesh, the top layers of skin and muscle. He felt no blood running down his back, felt no tears within him, and perhaps the others would have noticed as well, but after a brief second of stunned silence, an explosion rippled through the air, sending bodies either flying or ducking for cover. It was not a huge detonation, Kyungsoo gathered, but in the open space enough to disorient the mass of men in the building.

Shouts echoed from every corner of the building, men slipping out of the shadows to fire their weapons, though Kyungsoo still couldn’t decide who they worked for. A hot brightness turned his attention to one of the corners of the barn, where he realized the explosion had ignited the dry hay and wood and had given birth to a fire that licked up the barn walls and crawled over the floor. With great, painful effort Kyungsoo turned himself onto his back, crying out when his hands pressed against where he had been shot, though the sound was lost amid the hellfire of yells and gunshots. The barn grew brighter, hotter, and smoke began to fill the space, covering everything in a greyish haze.

A man, bloodied and burned, fell beside Kyungsoo. Drool and blood seeped from his quivering lips, his eyes wide as he whimpered. Disgusted, Kyungsoo rolled away from him and back onto his stomach, gritting his teeth at the spasms that his actions were rewarded with. He drew his knees up under him, pressed against his chest, and lifted his body from the dirt. Now kneeling, he squinted at the scene surrounding him.

Chaos filled the space, Bodies littered the floor, but innumerable men still stood, most engaged in some sort of combat though a few were desperately trying to put out the fire. Their actions were in vain; it had spread too far, climbing up the walls, latching onto anyone that dared get too close. It heated Kyungsoo’s face unpleasantly so he turned away, eyes searching the mass of bodies for Jongin.

Kyungsoo turned at the sound of footsteps approaching him. A figure drew close to him, gun drawn, but seeing his face gasped and put it back in its holster, rushing the rest of the way towards him. The man’s hands gripped Kyungsoo’s arms tightly, tugging him to his feet. Seeing that Kyungsoo was able to stand, the man began walking towards one end of the barn, away from the fire and the door Kyungsoo had originally come through. Though he wasn’t sure whose side the man was on, or where he was taking him, Kyungsoo was grateful just to be away from the fire, away from the suffocating heat and smoke. He felt light-headed, though he concluded it was likely just from the pain, but through his mind’s haze he wondered if he would be able to fight the man off, if it came to it. Probably not, since his hands were still bound behind his back, but he would certainly try. 

The man paused for a moment, looking around for something, and turned to Kyungsoo, his mouth open to speak. No words crossed his lips, however, as his face exploded in blood and chunks of skull, revealing a gaping hole where the man’s eye used to be. The grip around Kyungsoo’s arm went slack, and the body sunk to the ground, unmoving. Kyungsoo turned to see who had shot him, every curse that he knew flooding his head. Yi Fan. A very angry Yi Fan to be precise, one whose foot connected with Kyungsoo’s chest, sending him flying back against bales of hay. He sunk to the ground, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, but Yi Fan did not stop. He dragged Kyungsoo up by the collar, his fist connecting with Kyungsoo’s cheekbone and sending him into the dirt. Kyungsoo’s knees drew up to his stomach in agony, but a kick to his chest sent him onto his back, the handcuffs pressing against the forming bruise and pricking tears in his eyes.

A boot pressed against his chest, Yi Fan’s weight forcing the air out of Kyungsoo’s lungs. Kyungsoo looked up at him, hatred swirling in his eyes. There was a smirk on Yi Fan’s face as he pointed his gun between Kyungsoo’s eyes, his vision focusing on the barrel, thankful that it would at least be quick. He turned his head to spit out the blood in his mouth, but turned back just as quickly, daring Yi Fan to take the shot.

The shot never came. A bang erupted over the background noise of gunfire, and Yi Fan twitched, mouth falling open in surprise. He looked down at himself, and Kyungsoo followed his gazes to see his shirt red, blood seeping from his chest through the fabric, staining it. He stood for a moment longer, coughing up blood that dribbled down his chin, and then collapsed onto Kyungsoo, gun falling from his hand.

Kyungsoo struggled under his weight, desperately trying to free himself. The fire had consumed more than half of the barn now, and the end where it started creaked and collapsed under its weight, trapping dozens of men beneath it mid-battle. The collapse revealed the sky beyond it, calm stars twinkling behind intermittent clouds. It was beautiful, more so than usual, or maybe almost dying gave you a greater appreciation for that sort of thing.

The fire drew near, heating up the air around Kyungsoo. He was bitter, if anything, that he had survived so far only to be burned alive by a fire that Jongin had started. But Yi Fan’s body was soon pulled away, leaving Kyungsoo with the warm sticky feeling of blood all over his shirt but allowing him to finally breathe the hot, smoky air. 

“Jongin?” He squinted up at the man who had freed him, the features hard to distinguish against the backdrop of bright flame. “Tao?”

Of all the people that he had imagined coming to rescue him, Tao was not one of them. The man spared him a single glance before turning to Yi Fan’s body, hands digging into pockets until he returned with a small silver key.

“Roll over,” Tao ordered, aiding the movement with a hand under Kyungsoo’s back. There was the faint sound of metal against metal, and then Kyungsoo’s hands were freed, his shoulders aching with the ability to move. Tao pulled Kyungsoo to his feet, wrapping his arm around his shoulders and dragging him at a pace that Kyungsoo could hardly keep up with. “Hurry, Kyungsoo, this building is going to collapse at any second.”

Most of the men had either left the building or lay dead on the ground beneath it. Some carried their injured comrades, making their way to whichever exits weren’t aflame and hadn’t yet collapsed. Kyungsoo could hear the building creaking, see the flames lapping at the supports that held the roof up. It was getting harder and harder to breath, the combination and smoke and bruised lungs aching with every heave of Kyungsoo’s chest. 

The exit was a few dozen meters away when a mass slammed into Tao, sending him to the ground. Kyungsoo stumbled but did not fall, spinning to see what had attacked his new-found alliance. Junmyeon held the man to the ground by his wrists, his face bloodied clothes torn to reveal bruised and impaled flesh beneath. Kyungsoo wondered who had caused such damage, a little envious that he had not done it himself.

“You asshole!” Junmyeon’s fist left Tao’s wrist to connect with his face instead, sending droplets of blood scattering across the dusty ground. “You killed Yi Fan! I saw you!”

“Kyungsoo, go!” Tao croaked, using his free arm to try and fend off Junmyeon’s repeated attacks. The man was screaming something unintelligible, scratching and beating Tao’s face with no indication that he would stop anytime soon. The barn groaned something terrible around them, a final sigh that made all three of them freeze. Junmyeon looked up at Kyungsoo, then at the door he stood by, his eyes wild. Tao coughed, blood splattering his lips and staining his teeth red. “Go!”

The command snapped Kyungsoo out of his faze, and he scrambled towards the exit, face twisted in agony that the frenzied attempt brought him. He stumbled through the frame, collapsing onto his knees in the blissfully cooler night air. The ground beneath him was soft as he turned to peer back into the bright burning interior of the building, and he could see the two silhouettes of the men struggling. Junmyeon was kicking frantically, trying to rid himself of Tao, who had latched onto his legs and continually dragged him back to the ground. The wooden walls of the farmhouse creaked, and Junmyeon kicked out in panic, his boot connecting with Tao’s face and sending the man recoiling back, losing his hold. Junmyeon scrambled to his feet, sprinting forward a few steps. He had almost made it to the door when the barn collapsed around him, flaming pieces of wood falling like rain to the scorched earth below. His eyes connected with Kyungsoo’s for just a moment past the deluge, something sad and hopeless held within them, and then he was gone from sight, the building crumpling in on itself with a resigned _whoosh_.

Kyungsoo flinched back from the brief hot wind blowing past him, and when he looked again the night was darker, though a few piles of wood still burned, not put out by the dust and the wind. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the new darkness, letting his breath finally catch up with him. He allowed himself a couple of minutes of simply sitting in the grass, letting the air chill his body and sooth his lungs, and once he felt able, pushed himself to his feet, wiping his mouth and scanning the prairie around him for signs of life. He began to walk the perimeter of the barn, stepping past bodies and picking up a small yet sturdy gun from one of them. At this point, he figured he couldn’t be too safe. He could see the space where the many cars had sat, empty now save for a few, one of which he recognized as Yi Fan’s. He wondered if any of the bodies he had passed by held the keys to the remaining cars, and scolded himself for not checking. Kyungsoo was pretty sure they had been far enough away from civilization that walking back would be impossible, especially considering the condition he was in. He turned, ready to backtrack and search for keys, when a voice froze him on the spot.

“Kyungsoo?” There was disbelief in the word, amazement and what Kyungsoo would swear was relief. He spun towards the voice, pointing his gun blindly into the darkness. He squinted, and after a moment spotted a dark figure huddled against an abandoned tracker wheel, not prone like the rest of the bodies were. “You’re alive. You really- fucking hell, I thought I had lost you.”

“Jongin.” Kyungsoo’s voice broke as he said it. 

“How did you get out?” There was a certain waver in Jongin’s voice, and he sniffled quietly every few seconds, but Kyungsoo couldn’t be sure whether his presence had caused it or whether it was Jongin’s reaction to whatever harm he had suffered during the fight. “When- when the building came down, I was sure you- I thought you were inside. I thought you either hadn’t been able to get out or you were already…” He didn’t seem to be able to finish his sentence. Kyungsoo had never seen him like this; he was frail, weak even, vulnerable in such a way no bodily harm could have brought him to. No, Kyungsoo was sure he was the cause of it, and the knowledge swelled in his chest.

“Tao helped me get out. He killed Yi Fan. He and Junmyeon were in the building when it came down.” He stepped closer to Jongin, and it was at that moment they both realized that he had not yet taking his gun off the man. Jongin recoiled slightly, holding up a hand to stop Kyungsoo’s approach. “Jongin, come on. I’ll help you up, and we can find a car and drive back to the city. We both need medical help, or at least some fucking advil.”

“Wait.” Jongin’s voice had reverted to its original tone, and Kyungsoo surprised himself to feel comfortable in it. It was commanding, yes, and perhaps slightly intimidating, but it was the Jongin he knew, the one that, despite it all, Kyungsoo knew would go to any length to protect him. He had proved that already. “I’ve seen what Yi Fan can do. Just look at Tao. Look at what he _did_.”

“Jongin,” Kyungsoo rolled his eyes, “Yi Fan didn’t fuck me up like that. He didn’t have enough time to. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You’re pointing a gun at me right now.”

He had a point. Kyungsoo let his arm drop to his side, feeling the gun slip through his fingers and fall onto the grass below. “Better?”

“No.” Jongin’s voice, though tinged with pain, was playful, and even as he spoke he offered out a hand, outstretched in the empty air between them. The action made him shift in the grass slightly, a gasp falling from his lips. Kyungsoo wanted to rush over to him, to wrap his arms around him and assure him that he would get him the help he needed. “How do I know you aren’t just trying to lull me into a false sense of security so you can more easily kill me or torture me or whatever the fuck Yi Fan’s pets get off on.”

“Please,” Kyungsoo scoffed, walking the remaining few steps between them and taking a tight hold of the outstretched hand. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It felt almost weird not to kill off one of them, but I figured I should have at least one happy ending lmao. I didn't even have a major character death in this fic!! Don't expect that sort of luxury for my next one tho ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


End file.
